Forwarded To My Future
by Foenix2phorks
Summary: Bella is resigned to living a boring and unfulfilling life until she's old enough to graduate. But that was before fate stepped in. Looking up from her lunch tray, she sees four perfectly sculpted, pale faces- plus a bronze-haired, green eyed boy known for his gentility. He's not like the other boys in Forks. Can he help make her life a little more interesting? AU
1. Hungry Eyes

**A/N- Thi****s story is basically Bella's POV to my other story _Forward To The Future_ which can be found on my profile (hint, hint), however you CAN read this by itself if you want to. It will be a fully functional story in its own right. Each story will have scenes that the other will not have.**

**To make this a little more _interesting_ for you if you DID read the other story, and more _challenging_ to me, I will be rating this as Mature for _future_ adult content that Edward's POV will not have (though, please keep in mind that this Edward is a total gentleman, so premarital sex will _not_ be happening. Sorry!).**

**And, before you ask, this is BxE only- there will be no "falling in love" with Jacob. **

**Thanks goes to FireRed21 for asking if I was planning on doing a BPOV. I'm not sure if this BPOV would exist right now if I hadn't been asked. So, go thank FireRed21 by checking out his stories on his profile! He has a ton.**

**Chapter 1 of this corresponds to Chapter 19 of Forward To The Future.**

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**Chapter 1- Hungry Eyes**

**January 18, 2005- Forks, Washington**

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Everyone assumes that Hell is made from fire and brimstone. But I have to disagree. In my opinion, Hell is comprised of rain and mud.

And my Hell is a little no-nothing town called Forks.

Maybe I'm not being fair. Forks has _some_ good things going for it. It has a small, hometown feel to it- one where you can forget to lock your car door at night and still feel confident that no one would even _think_ about touching it. There's even a Thriftway grocery store that acts as the town's central gathering place which carries produce, bakery goods, and juicy gossip.

And, there are a lot of trees.

Lots and lots of trees...

OK. After thinking about it, maybe I was right the first time. This place _is_ Hell.

I was born here seventeen years ago to a pair of fresh faced high school sweethearts. Then, as these things often do, the young lovers ran into a problem- she wanted freedom from this rain drenched town and he didn't. So, she packed up her bags, buckled me into a car seat, and notified her husband that the divorce papers were being drawn up before she drove us out of this dreary place.

Mom and I eventually settled in Phoenix- a place sunny, warm, and interesting. In Phoenix, you can safely assume that when you walk outside you won't be slushing through the rain, sleet or mud. In Phoenix, no one really cares if you're the new face at school because there's already a couple of thousand to be interested in- faces that are way more beautiful than mine could ever hope to be. And, in Phoenix, if you're suddenly hungry for pizza, or burgers, or Thai food you can drive five minutes and you'll find what you're craving- you wouldn't need to drive an hour away to get something decent to eat. Basically, Phoenix is everything Forks is not.

And, unfortunately, I now find myself stuck here in a self-imposed purgatory.

Mom had always lived a somewhat bohemian lifestyle ever since she cut ties from the Olympic Peninsula. She often goes through phases of interest. There's been vegetarianism, crystal therapy, quilting, gardening, genealogy, knitting, yoga, and a dozen others that she was once obsessed with.

In between these distractions, she dated.

The guys that entered our lives never lasted very long. I once mentioned that since one of those ex-boyfriends was a plumber that maybe we could call him to fix our kitchen faucet when I accidentally broke it. She couldn't recall him at all. I guess that sums up her past relationships with the exception of my father. She couldn't forget _him_ because I was a physical reminder of their love affair- kind of like the string some people tie on their fingers to remind them of random things.

Early last year she walked into the house with a man that was at least seven years younger than herself. At first glance, he was a nice, good looking guy. He was a minor league baseball player that looked good in the uniform but didn't have much talent to go along with it. Surprisingly enough, he lasted a lot longer than the other guys that she had previously dated. Then, last September, I was shocked when Mom tossed me a bubblegum pink, knee length bridesmaid gown and announced that she was about to become Mrs. Philip Dwyer.

At first, it went well. Phil is an easy going type of person. He doesn't try to boss me around. He doesn't snoop into my business. And, he isn't one of those creepy, sleazy stepfather's that try to sneak hidden cameras into a teenage girl's bedroom. Everything seemed to go fine until it was time for him to travel with his team.

Mom tried to hide it, but I could see the spark that only he put into her eyes was gone the moment he stepped onto the plane. She insisted that she wanted to stay with me in Phoenix so that I could continue to go to school. That night, she tried to smile and laugh, though it was easy to see that she missed him.

As much as I love her, I know that she's a scatterbrain. She can't balance her checkbook. She forgets to pay the utility bills. She only remembers to refill the gas tank _after_ her car is sputtering and stalling on the road. She thought that the Reverend Jesse Jackson had once been apart of the Jackson 5 until I burst her bubble.

I became her caretaker to a certain extent. I was cooking our meals when I hit nine years old after suffering through years of her cooking. She is the only person that I have ever met that could cook a chicken charcoal black on the outside but iceberg frozen on the inside. She came to depend upon me for remembering everything that a "grown up" should be able to keep up with. I was the one who usually picked up our groceries. I checked that the smoke alarm batteries were changed twice a year. I was the one who interrogated her after I caught her reading an email from someone who claimed that she had just inherited ten million dollars from a just discovered oil well in Nigeria.

When other girls my age were pretending to run a household in their playhouse in the backyard, I was busy planning our meals for the upcoming week and reminding Mom to go to her dentist appointments. But, I'm not complaining about my childhood- I was happy and content.

In late December, I watched as Phil and Mom were tearfully kissing each other goodbye at the Phoenix Airport after his short Christmas break had come to an end. That's when I came to the decision that I couldn't hold her back any longer. He was a pretty smart man. He was dependable. And, he loved her.

She needed _him_ now a lot more than she needed me.

So, I decided to set her free. I would move in with Charlie and stay in Forks until I graduated high school. Yes, it would be boring and possibly drive me into a state of mental depression, but I knew that couldn't do anything about that. At least Charlie would be pleased.

Besides, I only have about a year and a half of high school left. I could fight my way through this mess. Then I could get out of Forks and the Olympic Peninsula and never look back.

Charlie Swan, my dad, still lives in Forks as the Chief of Police. For two weeks every year, I would be sent back to Forks to "visit" him- which usually consisted of me watching him fish and then gut his catch on his kitchen counter. Needless to say, this is not something that every little girl dreams of doing during their summer vacation. Once I hit fourteen years old, I managed to convince him that we would have a way better time if we were to go to real life, _interesting_ places. Places that don't make squishing sounds when you walk outside in your sneakers, for instance.

That was three years ago. I hadn't been back to Forks since.

Well, I hadn't until yesterday.

Charlie picked me up at the Port Angeles airport and drove us back to the home that he bought with my mom years ago. As we pulled into the driveway, he surprised me with a gift- a 1953 rusty red truck that I immediately fell in love with. Yeah, it's old and sounds like a jet engine when you crank it, but it was free to me so I'm not going to complain. He nodded his head and twitched his mustache when I thanked him- that's Charlie Swan's way of saying that he is very pleased that I liked his gift. He mentioned that he wanted me to have a way to go to school everyday without having to rely on getting a ride from someone else. I was a little stunned. I wasn't used to someone being considerate and thoughtful like this for me. Mom would have never realized that I needed a vehicle of my own without a prompt from me.

Charlie's house was just the same as always. Though it's two floors tall, it's still pretty small- two bedrooms, a living room, and a medium sized kitchen in the back. And, unfortunately, it has only one bathroom- and I would be sharing it with dear old Dad. That means that I can't keep any of my feminine stuff in the medicine cabinet like I did back home. Just the _thought_ of Charlie seeing tampons and my Lady Bic is enough to send me into hysterics.

The only highlight of this mess is my room. My mom had painted it a light, sky blue color back before I was born- which I have always considered proof that they had been hoping for a baby boy. The room isn't spectacular. It has no amazing views out of its window to enjoy (only the dull, gray clouds and the suffocating green of the surrounding forest). But, it is a place where I can escape to whenever I need to be alone, at least. And, thankfully, my dad is the type of guy who likes to keep to himself, too. I could cry my eyes out all night and he would be none the wiser unless he heard me. So, that's what I did. I quietly cried into my white feathered pillow until I fell asleep sometime around one o'clock in the morning. My first day of school was in a matter of a few hours and I dreaded it.

My school in Phoenix was huge. No one took much notice of me and I liked that arrangement just fine. I was mostly a loner. Sure, I had a few friendly acquaintances, but none of them seemed to mind too much when I announced that I was moving away.

Marcie and Anna had the idea for us to eat at my favorite pizzeria the day before I was due to move, which was touching because I thought that they were trying to find a nice way to say goodbye to me. Then, that thought flew out of the window when I realized that they had forgotten all about it. I spent the next half hour listening to how excited they were because the Kelly Clarkson concert was coming in a few weeks, and how they hoped to find new jeans that wouldn't make their butts look big.

That's when I realized that my mom wasn't the most forgetful person in the world. _She_ had at least helped me buy a new winter wardrobe for my new life in the coldest, rainiest, and dreariest place on Earth.

And that's where I now find myself- sitting at a lunchroom table at Forks High School where its entire student population is roughly the same size as my last school's marching band. Everyone is staring at me like they've never seen a pale girl with average looks and long, brown hair before. I hate being the center of attention. I want nothing more than to just grab my tray of food and run outside to eat at one of the picnic tables. But this is Forks, of course. It's been raining on and off all day, and will probably do so for the next month before Mother Nature decides to show me a little mercy by giving me a little sunshine and warmth.

Ever since I set foot on the school grounds this morning, students have been coming up to meet me. Now, I'm not a hermit. I can appreciate friendliness just as much as the next person. But, the first words out of everyone's mouth here is something like, "Oh! It's nice to meet you, Isabella."

I cringe every time.

For the record, I prefer to go by the name of Bella Swan. Isabella is too formal for a girl like me. It's meant for tall, mysterious women with brains, grace, and beauty. I may have the brains to a certain point, but I could never hope to get the rest. So, Bella is what I shall always be known by.

Sitting beside me in the cafeteria is a curly haired girl that seems to be gossip-central. She introduced herself to me as Jessica and immediately assaulted me with questions about my life. Thankfully, since I must be pretty uninteresting once you get to know me, she quickly dropped the interrogation and starts sharing _her_ life story instead. I let out a relieved breath and counted my blessings that she did not get much information to spread around. The last thing I need is to be gossiped about by a bunch of bored-stiff kids.

Not that I can blame them much. I guess if I had been living here all of my life I would be starving for something new to alleviate the boredom, too. There's really not much to do here. There's the beach that's too cold most of the time to swim in, and there's the local diner where they serve milkshakes. That's it. For anything interesting, you have to drive to Port Angeles- an hour's drive away from here.

So far from what I've seen, most of the kids here are nice and friendly. They're actually _happy_ here- which is hard for me to believe. Many of them are what I like to call lifers- they were born here, will likely live here after they graduate, and will eventually die here in a few decades time.

And here I go depressing myself again...

Jessica is telling me about some girl named Lisa's soap-opera-of-a-life story and I take the time to eat my food. I've learned enough by now to know that she'll be talking for the next five minutes straight. All I need to do to contribute to the conversation is _hmm_ and _ohh_ every so often.

She just mentioned how Lisa broke up with her boyfriend of three months for some exchange student when I look up from my tray and notice a group of students across the room that seem different from the rest. Out of the whole cafeteria, the students sitting there look like they all stepped out of Vogue magazine. They are all extremely good-looking and are dressed more fashionably than this crumby town is accustomed to. But, even with all their beauty, they look unhappy for some reason.

They look almost as depressed as me.

And they don't seem interested in my status as "the new girl" either. Every other student here keeps taking peeks at me- or worse, openly gawking with mouth ajar. But not these people. They are looking at everything _but_ me. It's as if they have absolutely no interest in me at all.

These are my kind of people.

The blonde-haired Aphrodite is staring down at her tray with a deep scowl. And, somehow, even with that frown she is easily the most beautiful girl that I've ever seen. There are girls back home that would kill to attain an hourglass figure like hers. Women like her only exist in old black and white film noir movies. She would have been perfect as a Veronica Lake or Lauren Bacall type of actress.

Sitting next to her is a dark-haired, brawny guy that looks like he would be a good choice to portray the Incredible Hulk. He has muscles everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if his muscles had muscles. He is busy stirring something on his tray, but I never see him actually eating anything. He's frowning a little and he keeps looking at a girl across the table from him- almost like they are having a conversation without moving their lips.

Across the table from the big guy is a blonde boy that looks as though he has just eaten something disgusting. His face is contorted into a grimace. And even though he isn't as big as his friend, he looks just as intimidating. They could team up and go into the bodyguard business together.

Beside him is a tiny girl with short, spiky hair that looks like she is trying to comfort him. She has her arm wrapped around his shoulder in a half hug. Her elven face and tiny button nose gives her a fairytale character type of look. If this school had a drama department, she would be perfect for Tinker Bell.

All four of them look like Greek statues come to life. Their faces are perfect- angular and classically beautiful. No zits. No crooked teeth. Not even a split end on their perfect heads, I bet.

The only imperfection that I see is that they each have dark, bruise-like circles under their eyes, like they stayed up all night studying for a test. And, all four of them are extremely pale- pallid and ashen looking. Paler than even me, and I had people in Phoenix who assumed I was a recently released hospital patient- why else would I be ivory white in one of the sunniest cities in the USA?

I notice that the tiny, dark-haired girl has an anxious look on her face, but it isn't aimed at the blonde guy that she's cuddling with. Instead, she keeps glancing at a boy sitting across the table from her.

While the others at his table are breathtakingly beautiful, this boy is handsome in a different way. His skin is not a sickly white- it is a warm beige that is just as blemish free as his friends'. His face is a mix of boyish charm and mature masculinity. His strong, square jaw is free from stubble.

I quickly decide that his most interesting characteristic is his hair. It's an unusual shade of reddish-brown that I have never seen before. Tufts of this bronze hair are sticking up in a state of perfect chaos. Occasionally, he unconsciously runs his fingers through it and flattens it down to his scalp. But it's as though his hair has a mind of its own. It always pops back up just the same as it had been before.

And, just like his friends sitting with him, I can see that he's unhappy.

His lips are turned down at the corners. And though he's talking now to the blonde boy, they don't say much more than a sentence or two before they return to silence. Even from this distance, I can see that his eyes look strained.

I don't know why, but I can't stop watching him. He's doing nothing special. He's just sitting there looking as miserable as I feel today.

Maybe I'm starting to become just like the rest of these kids from Forks. I've now become so deprived of stimuli that I've been reduced to staring at complete strangers as if they are the most interesting people in the world.

So pathetic...

All in one motion, the boy's head snaps up and stares across the lunchroom. His eyes zone in on mine and I become caught in their gaze. Normally, I would be embarrassed at having been caught watching someone like this and I would immediately look away. I should be able to just turn my head a few degrees in any direction to save myself from this humiliation.

But I can't get away from those eyes.

I feel trapped and simultaneously paralyzed- as if I were looking at a hypnosis wheel instead of an ordinary boy. My heart starts fluttering in my chest and my breathing speeds up. It feels as though he can see inside of me- all of my insecurities, my dreams, my fears, everything that I normally hide from the world.

Just when I think that I will be sitting like this forever, he breaks our connection and his eyes flick away- freeing me from the spell I had been under. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to break out from the dazed feeling he left me with.

I'm not sure how long it lasted. It could have been five seconds or twenty minutes. Somehow time had become meaningless.

Now he's staring down at his tray of uneaten food and tearing a bagel apart with his fingers. It's almost as if our strange interaction had never occurred.

"Who are they?" I ask Jessica after she finishes talking.

She glances quickly to their table, somehow knowing exactly who I was referring to. "That's the Cullens," she giggles in a hushed voice. "They all live with Dr. Cullen and his wife."

"Oh, so they're brothers and sisters," I say even though I think that none of them look very much alike.

Snickering into her hand, she rolls her eyes. "Uh, _no_," she retorts in a voice that sounds like she thinks I should already know the details. "The two blondes are twins and they're Mrs. Cullen's nephew and niece. They're foster kids. The other three were adopted by the doctor and his wife separately through the years."

The thought of anyone dealing with five teenagers at once is mind boggling. I'd bet that this doctor and his wife have diffused more battles and arguments in their house during their parental lives than the entire United Nations.

"That's nice," I remark. "To take in so many kids like that. It must be hard on them sometimes."

"They can totally afford it!" she snorts, misunderstanding my meaning. "They could probably adopt the entire eleventh grade class and still have plenty of cash to buy more luxury vehicles. I hear that their house is enormous- like castle huge! I can't wait to see it for myself one day."

As I continue to watch the Cullens, the boy lifts his head and meets my eyes. Panicked that he has caught me watching him (again), I dart my eyes away to look at Jessica. I take a few breaths to calm my frantically beating heart and decide to extract more information about the boy if I can.

I have to find out how he is getting this reaction out of me.

Maybe Jessica knows his story. He's probably a amateur hypnotist. I bet he's using me as a guinea pig or something. That's the only explanation I can think of. Why else would he be looking at me like that?

"Who's the one with the reddish brown hair?" I ask her while forcing myself to not look at the boy in question.

In response, she takes a peek across the room and softly squeaks when she sees that he's turned in our direction. "Ohmygod!" she gasps out. "I can't believe it! He was looking at me!" Her chest begins heaving like she's having a panic attack.

"What's wrong?" I question her. I quickly glance at the boy and see that he's no longer looking at us. He seems to be people watching but his interest changes by the second. He doesn't stay on one face for long.

"Nothing! This is the best day ever!" she squeals excitedly while fanning herself with her hand. "I've been waiting for this for _months_."

"Waiting for what exactly?"

"For him to finally get over his fears," she dreamily replies with a sigh.

"Oh," I hum as if I understand her. But I don't. I really, really don't.

Without taking her eyes off him, she places her chin in her hand and gazes unabashedly at the Cullen table. "He's Edward Masen. He's the newest member of their family. The doctor and his wife adopted him a couple of months before the start of the school year. He's from Chicago originally and he moved here after his whole family died." It sounds like she has this abbreviated history of his life memorized.

"That's so sad," I mutter. "It must be hard to move from a place like Chicago to a small town like this after losing everything in your life." I feel guilty now for ever feeling sorry for myself. At least I had Charlie here. This Edward sounded like he lost everything.

"Yeah, I guess it would be," she says as though she has never considered that aspect of his life before. "But, you'd never know it by the way he acts. He's the nicest member of their family. He's the only one that will talk to anyone outside of their group."

"What do you mean?"

Casually, she shrugs her shoulder. "The Cullens' are known for wanting privacy and stuff. They would rather ignore the rest of us and pretend that we don't exist. The only person besides Edward that even _tries_ to be nice is Alice Cullen- and even that's rare. The most she'll do is say 'hi' if you try to talk to her."

This was a surprise. At any other school people like them would be apart of the It Crowd. They would be the popular kids. But here they chose to be the outsiders.

"Which one is Alice?" I ask Jessica while quickly taking a peek across the cafeteria.

"Alice is the small dark one," she answers. Then, lowering her voice, she adds more information. "Jasper Hale is next to her and they're _together_." She says this in a scandalised tone.

Blinking my eyes confusedly, I whip my head back to look at Jessica. "They're dating?"

"Yes!" she giddily confirms, probably thrilled that she shocked me. "The big guy is Emmett Cullen and he's with Rosalie Hale, the blonde girl beside him. You can just _imagine_ what must go on at _their house_!" Jessica then seemed to drift off in thought, as if she really _was_ trying to picture it in her head. This is further proof to me that the people of Forks are desperate for entertainment.

Even I have to admit that it isn't common to see adopted kids dating while living in the same house. But, that's their business. If it made them happy and their adoptive parents approved, who am I to think badly of them?

"That is a _little_ unusual, I guess," I listlessly reply, taking a sip of my lemonade.

"You bet it is," she agrees, not noticing my lack of interest. "But it's also a plus if you ask me."

"How so?"

"Well, you see how Alice is hanging all over Jasper?" I nod my head and she continues. "Emmett and Rosalie are the same way. I think everyone here has seen those two making out in the parking lot at least once. And I hear that Mr. and Mrs. Cullen are really touchy feely too. They're always holding hands and hugging when they're seen together."

I was definitely not seeing her point. The PDA these people sometimes displayed didn't seem to be something that Jessica should be so excited about. Unless she's a voyeur or something...

"OK," I hesitantly respond. "So what about it?"

Jessica's eyes light up and she starts to bounce in her seat. "_Edward's not with anyone_! He hasn't even gone out on a single date since he's been here. And trust me, he could if he wanted to. He could take a new girl out every Saturday night and _still_ have plenty waiting in line for their turn."

Another surprise. Back home, guys that looked like him would have a girl on each arm while winking at a third across the room.

Or maybe I just went to school with a bunch of jerks...

But I failed to see how a single guy and his overly affectionate adopted family could benefit Jessica in any way. "And?" I say in confusion.

She releases a dramatic breath and rolls her eyes. "Don't you get it?" she questions as if I'm a complete idiot. "Being around so many couples will make him eventually cave! Seeing three couples kissing and stuff all the time will drive him crazy! At some point he'll need to find an outlet to express his inner, built-up sexual frustration. And I'll just happen to be there to _assist_ him when that time comes."

Either she is a desperate genius or she has been reading too many Harlequin romance novels. I was betting on the latter.

"Really?" I skeptically reply.

"Yes!" she exclaims excitedly, not sensing my doubt. "I've been working on him for months." Stuffing a French fry in her mouth, she continues to stare at Edward. "You should have seen it when he first showed up here. Girls were practically throwing themselves at him!" she recalls as she rolls her eyes. "It was totally disgusting how they couldn't figure out for themselves that he is just _too shy _of a guy to treat that way. With a guy like Edward, you need to be persistent and consistent."

She really lost me now.

"What do you mean?" I ask, more confused than ever.

"Oh," she nods with a slight smirk on her face, almost like she's embarrassed for me. "I see. You must not have much experience with guys, huh?"

"No, I don't," I reluctantly admit. My knowledge of the inner workings of the male psyche is limited to the fictional beaus of my Jane Austen collection. And, since Miss Austen never married, this may explain why I've never been out on a date before.

She nods her head again, her smirk disappearing. "Well, I'll help you out. Shy guys need the _girl_ to take charge and not give up on them. Most of the girls here gave up after the first month of trying. A few stuck with it until Thanksgiving. Well, I'm the last one. One day, he's going to realize how persistent and faithful I am and admit that he cares for me just as much as I'm crazy about him."

Interesting hypothesis, but I suddenly become concerned that she is overlooking a critical detail. "But how do you know he likes you in that way?" I gently question her.

Throwing back her head, she laughs loudly at what I thought was a valid question. "It's totally easy to tell, Bella!" she giggles with a dismissive wave of her hand. "All you need to do is just _look_ at a boy's body language when he's around you. Take for instance what happened to me just before Christmas break. I bought Edward this huge teddy bear with a little Santa hat, you see. It was so cute! It even had a shirt on it that said '_All I Want For Christmas Is You_'." For a few moments, her eyes appear to glaze over as she recalls that day.

"Anyway," she continues after snapping back to reality, "I waited to give it to him at the end of the day. Edward comes out of his Spanish class with his brother Emmett, so I start calling out his name and waving with my one free arm to get their attention, right? Well, Edward didn't hear me or something cause he starts walking _faster_ to get to his car. But his brother starts laughing and catches Edward by his shoulders to stop him from leaving. Thanks to Emmett, I was able to catch up to them and give Edward his present!" Her face turns dreamy again and she deeply sighs. "You should have seen him. He was so cute! He could barely open his mouth to thank me cause his teeth were clenched together so tightly and he couldn't look at me at all! Instead, he kept glaring down at Emmett."

All I could do is blink back at her with a blank face. Maybe I wasn't an expert in male psychology, but I did not see how a reaction like that could be construed as proof of attraction. To me it sounded like the guy was trying to escape. But, hey, what do I know?

Jessica huffs out a frustrated breath once she notices my confusion. "Don't you know _anything_ about boys?" she irritably tsks. "_He_ may be _too_ _shy_ to show that he likes me, but his brother knows! That's why Emmett wouldn't let Edward just walk off without getting my gift! He was trying to help us!"

"Oh," I uncomfortably respond.

Slyly, I peek at the Cullens and see that they are nimbly rising from their seats and are heading towards the door. Edward stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks with his head down. With a small gasp, Jessica covertly tries to look like she has not been ogling him for the past five minutes. Once she sees that his focus is elsewhere, she goes back to pitifully staring at him like a dog does when there's a juicy steak just out of their reach. "Just look at him," she wistfully sighs. "He can't even look at me again. That's so sweet."

I'm not sure about sweet, but he's definitely tall. All three of the boys are, actually. They tower over tiny Alice and Rosalie.

The bell rings a couple of minutes later and this girl with glasses and honey brown hair offers to take me to my next class- Biology II. She introduces herself as Angela and doesn't say another word. I'm thankful. After listening to Jessica for the past hour, the silence is a welcome treat.

I hate the layout of this school. Instead of having all the classes in one or two buildings, like a normal learning institution would have, this place scatters the classes into small buildings across the campus. Even worse, the buildings aren't even connected by a covered roof. You have to run through the rain and cold in order to go from class to class. It's like the people that planned this school consulted my nightmares before they drew up the blueprints.

I follow Angela until we reach the science building and we make it inside our class just before the bell rings. The class is made up of a dozen or so tables with two students assigned to each one. The room is packed with kids. And it appears that everyone is watching me again. You would think that they stared at me enough during lunch to last them for the rest of the day, but I guess not.

Stupid, boring Forks...

According to the secretary in the front office, each of my new teachers need to sign the slip of paper that I have pinched between my fingers. I scan the room and quickly spot my new Biology teacher, Mr. Banner if my paperwork is correct, standing near the back of the room. He's digging through a filing cabinet and doesn't notice me yet. Attempting to ignore the fascinated stares of the class, I straighten my posture and begin walking down the aisle.

I'm almost halfway to Mr. Banner when I turn my head slightly to the right and accidentally focus on a pair of piercing green eyes. I swear that I can feel them. They are a deep pure green, bright and alert. At first glance, I think that eyes of this color only exist in contact lens form- they are far too unusual to be real. But, just like earlier, I can't look away.

Somewhere in the back of my muddled mind, I remember that this is the boy from the cafeteria. Edward Masen.

My feet shuffle forward like a zombie as I stare dazedly at this admittedly good-looking but still ordinary boy.

Suddenly, his brows furrow down and a small frown appears on his face. Like the klutz that I am, I become so distracted in watching his changing facial expressions, I don't notice the book that someone has left on the ground until my foot hits it.

Tripping on my first day at a new school. Typical.

I fall forward and accept that I will be showcasing my lack of grace in front of everyone. Thankfully, however, I catch myself by hanging onto a neighboring table before I fall down completely. It could have been worse.

My pride now long gone, I straighten myself back up into a standing position, like a toddler just learning how to walk. That's when I realize that my clumsiness saved me. I am no longer in a never ending staring contest with Edward Masen. I gratefully take the opportunity and avoid looking his way again as I walk to Mr. Banner. The teacher quickly signs my slip and tells me to take a seat where I can. I stand on my toes and spin in place to look for an empty spot. My heart chooses to start thumping in my chest the instant that I see that I'm in trouble. There's only one vacant seat in this entire classroom.

I will be sitting next to my personal hypnotist for the rest of the year.

My lungs go into low hyperventilation mode and I try to hold in my breath for a few seconds.

_He's just a boy_, I repeat like a mantra inside my head.

This makes me feel a little bit better and my breathing returns to normal, so I order my feet to head over to that chair that sits two feet away from him and reluctantly pull it out to take a seat. I stare straight ahead and remind myself that I'm overreacting.

_He's just a boy._

_He's just a boy._

_He's just a boy._

My heart is beating normally again. I can do this. All I need to do now is just keep my head pointed towards the chalkboard for the next four and a half months. I can ignore the boy with his glowing green eyes and bronze hair and pretend that he doesn't affect me at all.

But, my traitorous eyes find a way to disregard my direct orders. I angle my head to the side, trying to be covert about my spying. Just one quick, sneak peek to see what he's up to...

He's watching me.

This boy is watching me with a strange intensity that stuns me- I can feel the goosebumps rising on my arms. I've had people watch me all day. It should not be something that surprises me. Yet, no one has done it like this or managed to get this kind of reaction out of me.

I gasp at seeing such raw emotion in a pair of polished jade green eyes and flit my own eyes away from his- determined to ignore him for the rest of class. Focused now on Mr. Banner, I try to concentrate on the lesson instead of my new lab partner.

Oh. God.

He's my lab partner now.

I will be expected to work with him. And talk like a normal person with him. How can I be expected to do all that if I can barely look at him without entering into a comatose state?

I am going to fail this class...

The teacher is droning on about plant cell structures and making a third of the class wish that they carried a pillow in their backpacks. But he at least seems to be knowledgeable about the subject. That's a plus. There's nothing worse than having a teacher that really couldn't care less about the subject they teach. A boring but knowledgeable teacher is better than a disinterested one by a mile.

Ten minutes before the bell is supposed to ring, I see Edward fidgeting around out of the corner of my eye. I tilt my head just enough to secretly watch him. Every so often, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, as if he's trying to wake himself. His fingers occasionally drag through his tousled hair.

Another few minutes pass and I see him sluggishly slump forward in his seat. He grabs the tabletop in a death grip, the knuckles of his large hand turn white from the pressure, and he subtly moans. The snug fitting white knit shirt he is wearing is rolled up to his elbows- exposing the taut and hardened muscles of his forearm as they strain from the force he is inflicting on our table.

No longer hiding the fact that I'm looking at him, my gaze moves upwards to his face. A light sheen of sweat is forming on his forehead. His upper body is wobbling in his seat, like I do when I'm on the verge of fainting. But it is his face that shocks me the most. It is tortured and vulnerable- the watchful and lively face from lunch has vanished.

I can no longer help myself. I can't stand seeing anyone, even my personal hypnotist, be in such pain.

"Are you OK?" I whisper to avoid getting caught talking during class.

Haltingly, he pivots his head until he meets my eyes.

They are stunning up close like this. More like gleaming jewels than human eyes. Inexplicably, I change my mind about their origin- I can't believe that he would ever bother wearing contacts. They have to be his natural color.

Opening his mouth as though he is about to speak, he abruptly snaps it shut before he says a word. His entire face squinches together and his eyes lock shut. I'm not sure what to think about this boy. He's either in extreme pain, or whenever he gets a good look at my face, it disgusts him.

At the clang of the bell, he shoots up from his seat and jets out of the room. All his books and notes from class are laying abandoned on our table. I stare at the door for a few seconds like an idiot, thinking that he'll come back for them. But he doesn't.

I gather up my stuff and slowly begin to stand up. I continuously peek down at his books, wondering what will happen to them if he doesn't come back. Will Mr. Banner know that they are his? Should I turn them in?

While I'm quietly speculating about the fate of Edward's things, I see a startlingly white hand land on his biology text book. My head snaps up to see a tiny girl gathering up his things into her arms. The top of her head barely reaches above my shoulder. Her hair is black, cropped short and poking up in a modern style. Her eyes are a strange golden hue- large and feline.

And she is widely beaming up at me.

"Hi, Bella!" Alice Cullen perkily chirps just before she zooms away- down the aisle and out the door before I can even think to respond.

I stand there in complete amazement.

She talked to me.

Jessica's earlier discussion of the Cullens' isolation popped back into my head. She said that they were all exceptionally quiet except for Edward. That they were not very friendly with non-family members.

But maybe Jessica was just exaggerating. This Alice seemed plenty nice to me. She even knew to call me by my preferred name.

Actually, she was the first person today that called me Bella instead of Isabella.

That was-

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" suddenly asks a baby-faced boy with blonde hair and icy blue eyes.

I try not to cringe at the sound of my real name as I answer him. "It's Bella," I reply with a forced smile.

"Oh," he responds with a puzzled face. Then, with a shrug of acceptance, he introduces himself. "I'm Mike. Do you need any help finding your next class?"

I shake my head, not wanting to be a bother. "Thanks, but I think I can handle it. It's just Gym."

A huge grin spreads across his face. "That's my class, too," he cheerfully reveals.

Together we walk to the gymnasium and I discover that he is the male equivalent to Jessica- he likes to talk. A lot.

In the span of only a couple of minutes, I find out more about Mike than I thought possible. Mike moved from California to Forks when he was ten years old. His parents opened up a sporting goods store that caters to hikers wanting to explore the national park. He would be on the football team if it hadn't been for a knee injury he received after slipping on an icy sidewalk a couple of years ago. He prefers hiking boots to sneakers. He wears sunscreen at all times, even when it's raining. He once hiked a well-known trail in four hours and twenty-three minutes- apparently that is an impressive time.

Once we reach the gym, we part ways and Coach Clapp lets me watch instead of participate in their sporting events. Today is volleyball day and I thank my lucky stars that I wouldn't be tripping and stumbling around on my first day. Let the kids here think I'm a _normal_ girl that can walk without falling face first before breaking the bad news to them.

After I get home and eat dinner with Charlie, I climb into my bed and stretch out under the blankets. It's raining again, but at least it's not that pounding rain that keeps me up at night. The huge tree outside of my window gently sways from the light breeze, creating moving shadows across my room. The sight intrigues me for some reason, so I sit up and look towards the window. From this angle, I can see the light from the street lamp hitting the foliage in a way that makes my breath hitch. The leaves of the tree are glowing an eerie, vibrant emerald green. Both intense and beautiful.

Just like the eyes of that boy from Biology II.

I remind myself that I'm being ridiculous. I'm sure that there is a rational explanation for why I felt so weird today. Besides, it's just a pair of ordinary eyes. There's nothing to worry about.

_He's just a boy... _

Yeah. Right.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- That's it for chapter 1.**

**Next chapter- Alice is up to something... And, the green-eyed boy speaks.**

**Thanks for reading! ;-)**


	2. Weird Science

**Disclaimer - I don't own Twilight. But you already knew that, right? Because, if I was really Stephanie Meyer, that whole "I fell in love with Jacob because I'm the mother of his future imprint" thing would not have happened...**

**00000000000000000000**

**Chapter 2- Weird Science**

**January 19, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

My alarm clock beeps until I smack it off the nightstand. Any device that intentionally wants me to face another day in this irritating place without a decent night's sleep deserves punishment. The constant whooshing sound of the wind last night kept me up for hours. Even when it's not raining this place finds a way to annoy me.

As soon as I step outside, I look up into the sky and give it a good glare. No sun. No surprise. It's cold and damp today too. It feels like I'm living inside of a refrigerator now.

I climb into my truck and I quickly fasten the seatbelt. I love this truck. I'm well aware that most people around here think it's a piece of junk, but I really don't care. Most of those people are probably driving little cars that are made from tin and plastic which have absolutely no personality. You see cars like them on the road all of the time. _My_ truck is special in that you don't see a classic vehicle that's still capable of moving very often. And it's the _good_ kind of special. Not that "my little Timmy may eat Elmer's paste but he still can recite the names of the presidents in alphabetical order'" type of special.

I pull in at school and park in the middle of the parking lot, well away from the cherry red sports car that's parked a few rows away. It looks like something Malibu Barbie would drive around in. Even though I have never been in a car accident before, I am not going to push my luck. Whoever owns it probably has a legion of lawyers that salivate at the chance to sue little people like me. Or Charlie. Either way, that would be a very bad thing, so I'm going to keep my distance.

After I reach over to pick up my books from my truck, I slam the door and begin walking towards my new school, aka my impending doom. I notice right away that I'm being watched by a small group of kids near the front entrance. That uncomfortable, insecure feeling I get when I'm being stared at is resurfacing. Out of desperation, I pull the hood of my jacket over my head. This hides my face from their view and keeps me from being able to see them. I immediately feel better and take a calming breath of air.

"Bella!" a lovely feminine voice chimes from beside me.

I jump in surprise and further embarrass myself when a loud yelp escapes my throat. And since gravity obviously hates me, I immediately begin falling face first and my books tumble to the ground.

An arm whips out and catches me by my waist, keeping me from face planting in front of the school. "Sorry about that," the musical voice sighs near my ear. "I should have known that would happen."

Once I'm standing upright, I blink my eyes a few times and see Alice Cullen standing in front of me, looking me up and down with a concerned expression. She's dressed in a mid length dress with tan boots that reaches her knees, making her look as if she will be walking down the catwalk in a few minutes. I peek down at my jeans and cheap black sweater. Instantly, I feel inferior standing next to such perfection.

"It's OK," I assure her, trying to ignore my feeling of insecurity. "I was just a little surprised."

A small smile appears on her pale, elven face. "Well, I'm sorry anyway for just popping up on you like that." She deftly bends over like a ballerina, scoops up my things from the pavement, and stuffs them back into my arms. "I'm Alice Cullen, by the way."

I pull my hood off my head. "Uhh... Bella Swan," I reply with a hint of shyness.

Her smile turns into a wide grin. "I know," she says in a perky voice. "Listen... I was wondering... Have you met my brother yet? His name is Edward Masen. He's in the same Biology class as you."

The hypnotic green-eyed boy with spectacular bronze hair that made me a zombiesque mess yesterday?

Nope, I have no idea who you're talking about.

I try to pretend that I need to think long and hard about her question. "Hmm...Umm... I'm not sure, but I _might_ have sat next to him yesterday."

After I answer, her golden eyes appear to grow brighter than before. "Oh, what a coincidence!" she happily croons. "I just started searching for someone who takes that class with him. And then the first person I run into is his _lab partner._ Small world, isn't it?"

"I guess it is," I uncomfortably mumble, wondering where she was going with this conversation.

"So..." she says in a quieter tone. "It's been kinda tough to find anyone willing to help us out this morning. He's sick with the flu and won't be back for a few days."

"He's sick?" I repeat, my interest in whatever she is going to tell me rising by the second.

"Yeah. He started feeling bad yesterday afternoon but he insisted that he needed to stay at school. You know the symptoms: nausea, dizziness, fever. The whole works. My other brother Emmett found him in the boys restroom hugging a toilet. He could barely walk on his own."

Hmm... Maybe it _wasn't_ my face that made him look like he wanted to vomit. It was just the flu. I don't know why, but it makes me feel a little bit better about myself.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I reply back with a hint of sympathy.

"Thanks. I'm trying to keep him from falling too far behind by picking up his work from each of his classes. So far, I've made arrangements with all of them except for Biology. But you know how Mr. Banner is. He just _loves_ for the class to take detailed notes, but he doesn't bother to write down _anything_ for absent students. And if Edward doesn't have access to those notes, he might flunk!"

"Oh. That _is_ pretty bad."

"Yep," Alice sighs. "So, I was wondering if you knew anyone that would be willing to let me copy those notes until he can come back to school? I'm desperate."

"Umm... I really don't know anyone that well yet. I just started school here yesterday."

"_I know,_" she says in a shrewd tone. A silent moment passes by, then her eyes light up like a supernova. She flings her tiny arms around me and gives me a crushing hug- somehow knocking the wind out of me in the process. "Welcome to Forks, Bella!" she yells.

"Thank you," I gasp out as I struggle to breathe.

"Oops! Sorry!" she cringes as she releases me. She takes a step back, sighs, and looks down at the ground in shame. "I get a little excited sometimes."

"It's fine," I smile while I straighten my clothes. "No big deal."

Taking a peek at me, she seems to cheer up a little once she sees that I'm not upset with her. "OK. Well... I guess I should stop bugging you and go try to find someone that could help me out," she sadly announces while taking another step backwards.

I don't know what comes over me. Maybe it's how nice she seems or the fact that she's on her own trying to help her brother, but I discover that I want to help too.

"Oh... Well, you know... I guess _I_ could do it for you," I offer.

"_Would you_?" she bursts out like I'm offering to clean her bedroom for the next month. "That would mean _so_ much to me... And Edward. _Especially_ Edward. It would _really_ help him out."

"Sure," I nonchalantly shrug. "I'll have to do it anyway."

"Thanks!" shrieks Alice as she envelopes me in another enthusiastic but gentler hug. "I'm so happy to meet you, Bella! You don't know how much of a life saver you are."

I've never met someone that wants to hug me so much. I must be more lovable than I thought. Alice treats me as if we've known each other for years. She is so much friendlier than Jessica portrayed her yesterday...

"Oh, well. It's nice to have met you, too," I uncomfortably reply. I'm not as good at expressing my feelings like Alice is. Thanks Charlie. I get that from you.

The warning bell clangs, letting us know that we only have five minutes left to get to class. "Ugh," she pouts with a disappointed expression on her face. "I had so much more that I wanted to talk with you about, but I guess that will have to wait for later... See you after school by the library? I can use the copy machine and then give your notes right back to you."

"Yeah," I agree. "Sounds good."

Saying a quick goodbye, she zips away towards the math building- leaving me alone to deal with a dozen or so stunned student faces staring at me in the parking lot. I huff out a sigh and yank my hood back over my head.

**00000000000000000000**

At lunch, Jessica and a boy named Mike invite me to sit with them. The girl that walked me to Biology yesterday is there too. I take a seat and suddenly this table is the most desirable spot in the school lunchroom. A second or two goes by and a girl with braces and a tendency to bounce when she speaks drops onto the chair across from me. With only one chair left at the table, two boys from across the room start sprinting towards the last seat and silently fight over the right to sit here. It looks like they're playing musical chairs but with no music. They each have a hand on the back of the chair which they are pulling back and forth. After a little while, one boy inexplicably gives up and the boy that I met yesterday named Eric sits down.

I had hoped that after the drama was over that I would be allowed to eat in peace, but I soon discover that in order to sit here, I will be expected to pay these people back by being their entertainment. Nearly everyone at the table wants to talk to me- and all at once it seems. I hear the braces girl ask me if I know how to ride a horse since I'm from the desert. Jessica starts blabbering about some tidbit of gossip that I have absolutely no interest in. Eric starts commenting about how nearby Port Angeles has a lot of fun, interesting things for teens to do on the weekend. And Mike asks if I've ever had a blood blister on my foot after walking ten miles down a boggy hiking trail.

My brain feels like its ready to shimmy out of my nose to escape. At my school back home, I could sit and eat with only occasionally being expected to talk with anyone. I was not exactly considered the most interesting person. But it definitely had its perks. At least I could eat in peace back then.

Once my new lunch table buddies remember that they haven't eaten a thing since they started talking to me, they begin digging into their food. I send up a silent thank you to the cafeteria gods and finally relax.

I glance around the room and see the Cullens sitting at the same table as the day before. Of course, Edward's not there, but it's almost as though his absence is being sorely felt among his family. They all look dispirited and hardly speak to one another. The huge guy, Emmett, appears particularly gloomy. There's an unmistakable frown on his face and his gaze keeps going back to look at the empty seat next to him.

Hours later, the last bell of the day finally rings and I flee the gymnasium. I had to participate today and it was not pretty. I fell. I knocked into innocent bystanders. I ran into the volleyball net. The coach eventually had mercy and told me to go sit on the bench.

Rushing over to the library, I find Alice already standing there. Once she sees me, she beams a gigantic grin but thankfully doesn't grab me again for another hug. We say hello to one another and I hand her my biology notes for today. We go inside and I watch as she uses the copy machine.

"Thanks again for this, Bella," she says as she hands me back my papers. "This is just what he needs. I'm sure once he can sit up without experiencing vertigo he'll appreciate all your work."

"Well, umm... It's no problem," I tell her as we walk to my truck. She bids me a quick goodbye, then skips over to the passenger side of that cherry red sports car I saw this morning. In awe, I stand there and gawk at blonde bombshell Rosalie as she backs her luxurious vehicle out of the lot.

It seems so unfair. Undeniably beautiful _and_ rich? What chance in life do the rest of us have when we have _that_ to compete with?

The next morning, I drive into the parking lot and notice Alice dashing out from behind the large hedge that's near the front office. She zips up to my truck and patiently waits for me to get out.

I'm naturally curious why she is waiting for me this morning. I mean, I don't have anything else that she needs. She copied my notes yesterday afternoon and I don't have that class again until much later today.

Alice bounces on her toes as I exit the truck. "Hi, Bella! I just wanted to say thanks to you again for all of your help. I gave Edward your notes and he was _so_ grateful."

"He was?" I ask with more interest than I should. "He must be feeling better then."

Her face explodes with cheerfulness. "Yes! Much better. He can sit up now without throwing up," she relaxedly comments.

"Well, that's good then," I awkwardly reply.

"Yeah, it is, but he's still not one hundred percent better yet. He's still weak so he's pretty much stuck in bed all day."

"Oh?"

"Yep," she chirps. Then, with a softer, somber tone, she adds, "But he's usually up there anyway listening to his music collection. He keeps to himself a lot."

"Hmm," I noncommittally mutter.

"To tell you the truth, Bella, I think that he's basically ostracized himself up there."

My ears perk up. I can relate to ostracization. "How come?"

"I think he misses his home," she sighs.

"Oh," I mumble. I understand that too...

"We've been telling him that moping up in his room will only make him feel worse, but does he listen? No. So, he stays up there and suffers alone."

"Maybe he needs help," I advise. "Therapy maybe?"

Alice's eyes widen while her head furiously shakes back and forth. "No, no, no. It's not as bad as _that_," she explains. "I think that he just needs to interact more with people. He has us, of course, but I don't think it's enough for him. I believe that he needs..._something_ more."

"Like what?"

Shrugging her petite shoulders, she says, "Oh... I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually. He's very intelligent for a boy his age. Pigheaded maybe, but smart too. I just have to push him a little towards what's best for him." She glances down to her wristwatch. "I guess I better get to class. See ya later at the library?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you then."

The following morning, Friday, Alice meets me again and promises that today will be the last day that she needs my help. She tells me that Doctor Cullen thinks that Edward will be back to school on Monday.

During third period Spanish, Jessica slumps in her chair beside me and wearily sighs. Before the teacher begins the lesson for the day, I lean over and ask, "Is anything wrong?"

Wanly bobbing her head, she stares sadly back. "Yeah... I think something's wrong with Edward. He hasn't been to school in three days. I hope he didn't get transferred to another school."

I squirm in my seat, wondering how much I can say without revealing that I have been keeping up with his absence. "I wouldn't worry about it too much," I console. "He's probably just out sick. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

Her face lightens up, my hypothosis seeming to cheer her more as each second ticks by. "You're right," she agrees. "That's probably what it is. Maybe I should send him some get-well gifts." Her earthy brown eyes pop open and she nearly shrieks in the middle of class. "I know! I'll get his address and visit him too! I bet you he'd just _love_ that story I told you about yesterday."

The ten minute long story about how you heard that Ms. Leggate from Home Economics is having an illicit affair with the shop teacher?

I may not know Edward yet, but I have a feeling that a conversation like that would send him back into delirium. I know it did for me...

"I don't know, Jess... It's probably best if he uses the rest of the weekend to recuperate at home without so much excitement. I'm sure he'd love to hear the story once he comes back to school."

She puckers her lips out in obvious disappointment. "I guess you're right," she concedes.

Half an hour later, she passes me a note.

_Hey, I'm working on something to write on Edward's get-well card. What do you think about this?_

_Your nose is red_

_Your eyes are green_

_I've missed you like crazy_

_I can't wait til you're out of quarantine_

I sadly shake my head at her, and wish I can tell her to hold off on her dream of becoming a Hallmark card writer.

**00000000000000000000**

Monday morning comes and I go about my business as usual. I'm well aware that Alice said that her brother would probably be back today. And, when I don't see her floating around my truck when I pull in this morning, I figure that he must be back.

Not long after I get to school, I'm horrified when I spot snow falling from the sky. To me, snow plus sidewalks plus Bella will only equal a disaster. Between classes, the other kids toss snowballs at everything in sight, especially their classmates. Their heads become icily damp, covered in snowflakes and bits of leaves and other debris. I watch them with as much wariness as I would a tiger that is hunting me through the jungle.

Lunchtime rolls around and I follow Mike and Jess into the cafeteria. Something from beyond my control takes over and I scan the room for the Cullen table. No one's sitting there yet- they're probably outside playing in the snow like a lot of the other students. I sit down at the table that has become my usual place while Mike and Jessica each take the chairs on my sides.

Jessica starts chatting and I forget the Cullens for a little while. I eat while she goes on and on about the drama of high school. I feign interest as I gobble down my pizza. Reaching to grab my bottle of water, I accidentally look across the room and see that the Cullens are there now.

Unlike the other times that I've watched them, they seem happier. All of them, except for Rosalie, are looking at Edward with smiles on their faces. He's smiling a little too. I watch as he smoothly slides a slice of pizza off of Emmett's tray. Emmett's brows furrow while Jasper chuckles at Edward for his theft.

I become fascinated watching their interactions with one another. The three boys smile and laugh while Alice talks. Rosalie seems to be keeping to herself, not saying a word to anyone and looking bored to death.

I glance back at Edward and notice that he's the only one of them that's eating. He's scarfing down the pizza and popping carrot sticks into his mouth like a Hungry, Hungry Hippo. Sure, I get that he's a growing teenage boy, but this only makes me more curious. Jasper is just as tall as him, and Emmett is gigantically huge. Wouldn't they need to eat like a marathon runners just to maintain enough energy to walk around? Instead, they are just poking and prodding at the food on their trays.

Then, as this question is passing through my thoughts, Edward's head snaps my way and he spots me watching him. I can almost feel his eyes when they land on me. To keep myself from repeating the embarrassment that happened last week, I whip my body around to face Jessica. I try to concentrate on her and what she's saying.

"Julie and Zach were making out on the couch when her parents caught them. But, really, I don't see what Julie sees in Zach because I think he's kinda a loser," Jessica chatters, leaving me wondering who these people were. It takes me another minute or so of careful concentration to realize that she's describing what happened on a TV show from the night before. "Anyway, her mom kicks him out of the house and tells Julie that she can't see him anymore- which I really don't think is such a bad thing cause those glasses of his don't help his face _at all_. So, then-" Jessica's mouth abruptly snaps shut, leaving me forever in the dark about what happened to the fictional family. Her arm flings into the air and begins frantically waving at someone across the room.

I glance to where she's staring and see Edward give her a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning to Emmett beside him. Jessica's hand falls to her side and a dreamy sigh passes her lips. "He looked at me again," she says in amazement. "He was staring right this way... I wonder what _that_ means?" She turns to me, gazing at me intently to gage my reaction. "Maybe our time apart was good for him," she concludes with a smile. "I bet you that he missed our special talks in the mornings."

I can't think of a proper response to give to her, so I just smile and nod. Smiling and nodding your head when you are actually secretly worried about the mental health of the person you are speaking to is the only way you can avoid confrontation.

Lunch ends and I try to prepare myself for my next class. When we step outside the cafeteria, we see that the snow has turned into a cold, dripping rain. Jessica, Mike, and half a dozen other kids bemoan the lost opportunity to lob snowballs at random victims. However, I am beyond relieved that the "fun" is over. The only thing worse than being rained on is being pelted with freezing slush balls.

I make it to Biology class without slipping too much on the icy sidewalk and take a seat. Edward's not here yet- giving me time to relax and make myself comfortable. The other students are busily yapping to whoever will listen. The sound of their droning voices reminds me of a hive of bees- buzzing and relentless.

Not long before the bell rings, I see Edward's disheveled head enter through the classroom door. I want to study him as he walks to our shared table, but I know that it would be a grave mistake. I don't want to seem overly interested that he's back, let alone enter into that weird trance-like state that happened to me last week. So, instead, I keep my head pointed towards the front of the room where Mr. Banner is rifling through his desk. I pretend that this is interesting to me, but all I seem to notice is the sound of Edward's chair as he takes a seat.

A moment or two passes by.

Then a throat clears.

Without thinking, I turn my head towards him slightly- just enough so I can see him out of the corner of my eye. Maybe if only _one_ of my eyes are on him at any given time, I will be OK...

I can barely make out his face, but it's enough for me to know that he's staring my way. "Hello. I'm Edward Masen," he says formally in a smooth, deep timbre. "You must be Isabella." He pronounces my name with a flourish- emphasizing it like it's important.

But, of course it's not.

I have to fight to keep from flinching when I hear my real name. I hate it. Though, I have to admit... It doesn't sound as bad when _he_ says it.

But... The fact that he doesn't just call me "Bella" confuses me. Alice called me Bella several times. I'm sure she mentioned that "Bella" helped her out last week. So, why would he still insist on calling me by my real name?

Nervously, I bite down on my bottom lip and turn my head towards him a little bit more. "Bella," I correct him in a small voice.

"What?" he barks out with furrowed brows.

"It's, um..." I stammer like an idiot. "I prefer Bella."

"Oh," he confusedly replies back before his gaze darts down to our table top.

Now that he's no longer looking at me, I gather the courage to turn my head all the way towards him to get a better view. I see that his skin is a normal color now- no longer is it clammy looking. He's wearing a long sleeved gray shirt and brown leather jacket that probably costs more than Charlie paid for my truck. And, somehow, despite the unflattering florescent lighting of the room, I have to admire the strands of his hair that are shining like a newly minted penny.

Before I can analyze him any further, he jerks his head back up and it happens _again_.

I instantly become focused on him and on him alone. I see his mouth move, as though he wants to say something, yet nothing is coming out. Instead, his green-hued eyes appear to widen- leaving me feeling as if I'm about to fall into them. They are bright and alert- no longer do they appear feverish or delirious. The noise of the class seems to fade into the background as we continue to just stare at one another.

The teacher raises his voice and calls for everyone's attention, which causes me to blink by reflex. By the time I refocus on the boy sitting next to me, I see that he is staring straight ahead towards Mr. Banner. Clearly, our strange moment has passed.

I follow his lead and try to forget what just happened.

Mr. Banner explains our assignment while he strolls around the front of the class. We are to organize onion root tips slides into their stages of mitosis- an assignment that I've done back home in Phoenix. This should be easy...

Microscopes and small boxes full of slides are passed around the room. Mr. Banner walks up to each table and lays down one sheet of paper. "I expect you to work closely with your lab partner to complete this project," the teacher sternly commands us. "This will be a group effort. Each of you will need to contribute in some way."

_Oh, no_.

_Why, Mr. Banner? Why? A __group__ assignment? Really?_

I desperately want to raise my hand and ask if I will receive extra credit for working under duress. Not being able to look at your lab partner without turning into a brainless zombie should count towards _something_, shouldn't it?

Our teacher gives the go ahead and everyone in the room, except me, turns towards _their_ completely normal lab partner.

I'm so jealous of them...

I hear the chair next to mine scraping against the linoleum. I give a tentative peek in his direction to see what he's up to now. His chair is angled towards me while his elbow casually leans against our table. I can tell that he's waiting on me to acknowledge him.

_My_ lab partner expects me to work with him too, I guess.

I have to find a way to deal with this. I just need to relax and calm myself down. My overactive imagination is just messing with me. I'm taking a completely ordinary situation and turning it into something bigger than it really is.

Then, I remember my mantra from the other day that seemed to help me.

_He's just a boy. _I repeat in my head while taking a lung full of air.

There.

That's better. My breathing is normal again. Heart rate is slowing down. I've got this under control.

With this boost of mental strength, I turn to face him. My gaze lands on him and I'm thrilled that my mind doesn't immediately seize up like before. I can even look him in the eye without turning into a blubbering moron. I _knew_ I was just overreacting.

But, then his face does the one thing I don't anticipate.

He smiles.

It's not your average how-are-_you_-today type of smile that I normally see. _That_ type of smile is often forced- fake and obvious. It's the same kind of smile that I had to give my mom when I insisted that I wanted to move back to Forks. I must be a better actress that I thought because she accepted it as proof that I was telling her the truth.

But, this smile of Edward's is different. Only one corner of his mouth is lifted- making his smile lopsided. It looks boyish and mischievous. Yet, most intriguingly to me, it feels genuine.

My breath catches and I'm back to being a complete mess again.

He points down towards our shared box of slides. "Umm..Ladies first?" I hear him say through my mental fog.

An indeterminate amount of time passes by while I dumbly gape at him. I know that he expects me to answer him, but my mind has disconnected from my mouth.

That crooked smile of his is slowly vanishing the longer I stay silent. Eventually, it's gone completely. A confused frown is beginning to form on his face. He's probably wishing that he could have a lab partner that can form intelligible words without falling into a vegetative state.

This epiphany helps bring me back to reality. Since he invited me to go first, I can focus my attention on our work. That should keep me busy...

I take another second to prepare myself and then I answer him. "Sure," I reply in a tone that sounds calmer than I really am. Without giving him another glance, I whip my hand out to grab a slide at random. I flick it under the microscope, examining it and coming to a conclusion in a few seconds.

"Prophase," I announce as I reach to pull out the slide from the microscope.

"May I take a look as well?" I hear him politely request. Though, before I can answer him, a hand falls upon my own, keeping me from being able to remove the slide. It's large and warm, and completely envelops mine. His thick, long fingers are moving ever so slightly, absentmindedly brushing against the top of my hand. In a way, it feels comforting, but my brain is too busy screaming in panic to enjoy it. And panicking is _not_ a viable option right now. I've already made enough of a fool of myself in front of this boy.

So, I take a large gulp of air and hold it in to keep from hyperventilating. Back when Mom took yoga, I learned this technique from the dozen or so books she bought on the subject.

While I calm myself, my eyes travel upwards and I see that he's staring at our joined hands. His forehead is crinkled down in deep thought. For a second, he reminds me of the statute of The Thinker. Except, unlike that famous statue, Edward is fully clothed. Thank goodness.

Then my body reminds me that I've been holding my breath for longer than necessary. My lungs uncontrollably release my breath, and I greedily gasp for new, clean air. His face clears from whatever was occupying his thoughts and he snaps his head up to look at me. For a moment, a look of shock crosses his face and he yanks his hand away.

"Excuse me," he quickly mumbles.

Immediately, I pull my hand away from the microscope- too stunned to say anything back to him. I keep my gaze safely fixed down at the table- well away from eyes and smiles and hands that seem to have more power over me than they should have.

Our microscope is dragged away from my sight and I can vaguely sense that he is checking the slide. After a short time, I hear it being pushed back in front of me.

"Prophase it is," he lightly agrees.

I take a peek at him and I see that he's smiling again, but I think I can handle this one. It's small and apologetic. I keep watching him as he slides the paper the teacher gave us closer to himself. In beautiful curving script, he quickly and confidently writes the answer down. I instantly feel inadequate. My own handwriting looks like I'm experiencing a grand mal seizure whenever I take up a pen. And to think that I gave this boy my own biology notes written down in my god awful scrawl...

His bronze head pops back up and he tips it towards the microscope, causing me to forget what I was worrying over. "Next slide?" he suggests.

I seize upon his suggestion and throw in another slide. A few seconds of inspection later, I call out my assessment as I push the microscope over to him. He takes it, briefly examines it, and agrees before he jots down the answer on our worksheet. Somehow, we have come up with a way to work together without even discussing it first.

In only a few minutes of time, we have studied and organized each and every slide. Our worksheet is complete. We're finished.

But the rest of our class? Not so much...

I look around and see that we're the first ones done with the project. Everyone else seems to be struggling with our assignment. The usually even-tempered Mike and his lab partner are arguing back and forth about how they should arrange the slides. I sigh and turn to face towards the front of the room.

"I... want to apologize for the way I left the other day," I hear Edward say in a quiet tone. I whip my head around and see that he's staring at me. "Normally I wouldn't run off after someone speaks to me."

He's apologizing for being too sick to chitchat last week? Who asks for forgiveness for that?

"Oh, you don't need to apologize to me," I assure him. "I understand. You weren't feeling well. It could happen to anyone."

With a subtle shake of his head, he insists, "Well, regardless, I apologize."

"Really, it's OK..." I repeat.

I glance down at our table and glimpse the worksheet that features his perfectly formed writing, which reminds me of my biology notes again. Was he able to read my messy scribbles? And, if he could, did he _understand_ what I wrote?

I should probably keep my mouth shut since I was finally able to speak and behave like a normal, rational girl. But, I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. And, naturally curious...

"So, I guess you're feeling better now?" I ask him, hoping that he will voluntarily cough up the information.

"Yes, much better," he replies. Then his mouth shuts as if that's the end of our discussion.

I nod my head, but my insatiable curiosity is overwhelming. I want to know. I _need_ to know if my notes helped him or hurt him.

Stupid pride...

"Were you able to understand the notes?" I finally ask.

His head jerks back slightly as his brows furrow down. "What notes?"

"The Biology class notes," I quickly clarify to him. "I was the one that wrote them."

"Oh, I didn't realize that they were yours. Thank you, they were very helpful."

He thanked me- even managing to sound truly appreciative of my contribution while he was out sick. So, I should probably leave it at that.

But, why didn't he know that it was me? I can't imagine that Alice wouldn't at least _mention_ that his new lab partner was helping him out...

"Your sister didn't tell you?" I blurt out before I can change my mind.

"Didn't tell me what exactly?"

"That they were from me."

This seems to surprise him. His brows shoot up to his forehead while he stares back at me with a confused expression on his face.

"You spoke with my sister?" he cautiously asks. I nod my head up and down, which only serves to puzzle him more. Then his face takes on a more contemplative look. "The one that runs around as if she just ingested a few dozen cupfuls of coffee?"

A smile appears on my face before I can even think about it. His description matched Alice to a tee. "Yeah," I confirm to him.

For a brief moment, his eyes narrow and sharpen in their intensity. Before I can identify what that may mean, his smile is back. Though, this time, it looks more strained than genuine.

"It must have slipped her mind," he laughs as he runs his fingers through his hair.

_Hmm..._

"She's very...energetic," I observe aloud, ignoring his discrepancy in behavior for now.

I hear him incoherently mumble something under his breath, then his focus lands back on me. "I hope you didn't go into any trouble," he gently says.

"No. Alice did nearly everything. All I did was listen to Mr. Banner and wrote down what he said."

He nods his head for a moment as his mouth puckers out. Clearing his throat, he continues. "I don't mean to pry, but did Mr. Banner ask for you to take the notes?"

Wow... Alice must not have told him _anything_.

"Oh, it was Alice. She asked me Wednesday morning before school if I could help her out until you got back." His eyes suspiciously narrow again as he listens, but he says nothing more on the subject of his sister.

After a short silence, he speaks again. "So..." he says in a friendlier voice. "How has life been for you now that you're living in Forks?"

Yay... It's the question that I dread the most. I have to either lie my butt off, or come up with an answer that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings. Every single person that will ask you this question wants you to say "oh I love it here" or "it's better than I ever dreamed".

But, of course, I would never in a million years say either one of those things. If I were lie to that degree, a lightning bolt would strike me dead.

I'd love to tell Edward that Forks is the embodiment of every nightmare I have ever had. That no one in their right mind would want to live here. I want to say that I've only lived here for a week, but it feels like forever. I want to say that Forks will never, _ever_ be home to me.

But, instead, I choose to be diplomatic.

"It's different," I say offhandedly. I'm not lying or insulting this gloomy town in front of its citizens. It's a win-win.

A small grin creeps across his face after a few beats. "So, what you're really saying, is that you hate it." He says this with supreme confidence and just a touch of amusement.

_Crap_.

I shake my head vigorously, denying his astute judgement. "I don't _hate_ it..." I claim.

One of his eyebrows arches up, contradicting my claim without even speaking.

_Double crap. The jig is up._

Sighing in defeat, I give up and admit to this boy the secret that I have kept hidden from everyone else since I moved here. "Well, I guess you _could_ say that I do hate certain things about it."

"Such as?" he encourages.

He wants to know why I hate this place? Well, I hope he's prepared to listen for a few hours...

"The cold. The constant rain showers. The fact that the sun never shines here. The mud that gets stuck on the bottom of your boots. The puddles that are everywhere." I stop here because I doubt he wants to hear the whole list right now. My list is _very_ long.

He intertwines his fingers together and stares back at me with an expression that I can't interpret. "Do you realize that you basically just described the city's tourist brochure?" he remarks with a touch of sarcasm.

_Sarcasm_.

He speaks my _language_.

I decide to go along with his deadpan attitude. I widen my eyes as if what he just revealed was a surprise to me. "People come here willingly?"

A smile reappears on his face. "On occasion, or so I'm told," he laughs. It sounds happy and carefee now. I feel certain that he's not faking it. Without being able to stop myself, I smile along with him.

We fall into a period of silence, and his smile slowly softens. His face goes back to a deep, probing look as he watches me. "I take it that you didn't. Come here willingly, that is," he observes.

I chew my bottom lip while I come up with a way to avoid answering his question. "Yes and no. It's kind of complicated," I eventually reply.

"Complicated you say?" he comments with a wan smile. I look into his eyes and see a flash of pain. "I'm not exactly a stranger to those types of situations myself," he gently adds.

Of course... He's an adopted child. Jessica said that his family all died. She said that he left his whole life behind in Chicago. He would _definitely_ understand complicated...

"My mother remarried," I warily confess, memories of my lost home flooding my thoughts.

Nodding his head, he leans back in his chair while he thinks over what I just said. "I see..." he musingly remarks. "And he was one of those evil stepfathers you read about in a Dickens novel?"

The corners of my lips want to lift at his remark, and I vainly struggle to keep from outright laughing at his teasing joke. "Umm, no," I smile. "Phil is a pretty nice guy. He's good for her."

"Then why did you leave?" asks Edward immediately afterward.

His direct question brings me back to my reality. The lighthearted moment is gone now. "Phil travels a lot around the country for his job," I tell him in monotone. "Mom would stay at home with me, but I could see that she missed him. I didn't feel right about forcing her to stay with me when she really needed to be with him." I don't want to sound like the pathetic, homesick girl that I really am, so I attempt to sound more upbeat about my new life when I continue. "So... I moved here to keep Charlie company."

His brows furrow back down and he appears more astonished now than earlier when I told him that I had helped his sister. "What you're saying is that you moved from one of the driest places on Earth to the wettest place on Earth just to please your mother and her new husband?" He sounds both incredulous and dumbfounded.

"I wouldn't say it like that..." I falteringly say. "It's more like I'm giving them the ability to go wherever they please without having to worry about me as much."

Slowly, his brows unfurrow. Leaning forward in his chair, he stares deeply into my eyes with a strange look that I can only guess at its meaning. All I know is that it draws me in and I watch, spellbound, as he begins to speak.

"I'm sure you're wrong there," he murmurs, his voice both soothing and warm. "I imagine that your mother will worry about you no matter where you are. I don't believe it's possible for love to cease just because you cross state lines."

My face instantly blushes a scarlet shade of red. I'm not sure if it's because of what he just said or if it's how he's staring at me. Apart from my crippling clumsiness, my humiliating tendency to blush is rearing its ugly head now.

_Perfect. Just perfect, Bella..._

I allow my face to escape his scrutiny by dropping my gaze down to my notebook that's in front of me. In a slow, agonizing pace, I feel my cheeks gradually lose their heat.

Mr. Banner snaps his fingers and orders everyone to quieten down. I take a peek at Edward and notice that he's back to focusing on the teacher. I mutely sigh and then do the same, listening to the teacher as he explains to a few of the students that they did not answer the worksheet correctly.

At the end of the hour, the bell rings and Mr. Banner dismisses us. I begin gathering up my things into my arms.

"Bella?" I hear Edward call out from beside me. I pause in my task and give him a tentative glance. He's standing with his books clutched casually to his side with just one hand- a position that I can only wish to accomplish without spilling everything on the ground. "I just wanted to say that it was nice meeting you," he says with a bright grin.

"Yeah. It was nice meeting you, too," I tell him with an answering smile. His lips widen a bit more before he turns to leave the room. I take a few seconds to watch him stride away before I resume scooping my books up from the table. By the time I'm done, Mike is beside me and staring towards the classroom door.

"What did Masen just say to you?" he asks with a hint of accusation marring his tone. I shrug my shoulders and act as if it wasn't much.

Because it _wasn't_ much of anything.

_Really_.

"Oh, he just said that it was nice to meet me," I nonchalantly answer. We begin walking together towards our last class of the day- gym.

My answer doesn't appear to please Mike much. His face darkens as his mouth pinches together. I've never seen him look like this before. Where did happy-go-lucky Mike go?

"You need to be careful, Bella," he warns out of the blue.

I incredulously scrunch my face up. "Of what?"

"Of _him_," he cryptically answers.

"Why?" I question him.

Mike takes a second to check all around him, as if anyone cared enough about our conversation to listen in. Once he assures himself that no one is around close enough to eavesdrop, he whispers an answer. "Because he's weird."

I want to laugh. I want to throw back my head and giggle like a lunatic. What a great reason to be wary of your fellow lab partner...

"Really?" I exasperatingly breathe out. "And you're basing your judgment on what now?"

"On my months of observing him," Mike tells me. "Edward is just plain weird, Bella."

"Like his family?" I offhandedly mention just to see what he would say.

Mike falls for it and nods his head. "Well, yeah. Maybe he isn't as shut off from the world as they are, but he's not much better. He'll talk to us and stuff. But he doesn't _want_ to. I can tell."

"Maybe he's just shy."

Mike huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes. "No. I don't think so. He doesn't seem to be the type. I think there's something else going on with him."

"Like what, Mike? What's your theory then?"

"OK. I'll tell you, but you need to promise me that you won't say anything."

"Sure."

"Three words. Witness. Protection. Program."

I dubiously stare back at his lamebrain theory. "Oh... So he's a reformed mobster? He _is_ from Chicago. Maybe he's Al Capone's great grandson," I scoffingly retort.

But Mike apparently has not studied the art of sarcasm like me. He readily agrees with my mocking comment. "You might be right," he nods. "Maybe the whole family's in the mob. That's why they never talk to anyone. I mean, why would a doctor like him want to move to a tiny town like this? There's got to be something to it. I don't trust them."

"Your family moved here voluntarily. Does that mean that I shouldn't trust you too?"

"This is different," he quickly defends. "We don't keep to ourselves like the Cullens, Bella. They all stick together like they're apart of some freaky cult. They barely talk to anyone else. They're rarely seen in town other than at school or the hospital. It's weird."

"Edward talks," I say, avoiding mentioning that Alice spoke to me several times. "He spoke a lot to me during class, actually. He seems nice enough."

"_Seems _nice," he stresses. "He may say 'hello' and open up doors for his female teachers, but he doesn't do much more than that. He _never_ does anything with us. He gets asked all the time if he wants to hang out and he always says 'no thank you'. _Always_. What type of guy rejects everyone and everything offered to him?"

One that's depressed, maybe...

I shake my head and defend my judgement of him. "You might think that there's something wrong with him, but not _everyone_ here thinks that way. Jessica seems to think Edward's nice and nonthreatening. She talks as though they're friends all the time."

"Yeah," Mike snorts as we enter the gym. "She thinks his car and clothes are nice. Having plenty of cold, hard cash in your pocket will attract _some_ girls."

I glance up at him and come to the conclusion that Mike might be a little jealous.

At the end of the day, I rush to the parking lot to fetch my truck. A few rows away, I see Edward getting into the driver's side of a new shiny, silver car. The rest of his family hops inside soon afterwards- except for Alice.

She's standing beside the passenger door with her body angled my way. Once she sees that I've noticed her, she covertly winks at me before she slides into the car.

Strange family.

Nice...but strange.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- I know it's taken forever for me to put up this chapter. Sorry for that. But, I promise that once my other story is complete (which it hopefully will be pretty soon), I can then devote more time to this one.**

**Next Chapter****\- A very icy, dangerous parking lot on a wintry morning...**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	3. Chemistry Of A Car Crash

**Chapter 3- Chemistry Of A Car Crash**

**January 25, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

_The sun is directly above me, sending its balmy heat down as I lay on the blanket in my backyard. The warm rays feel so good on my skin that I don't bother covering myself or even applying sunscreen. This is a pretty risky move on my part. My skin doesn't tan. It boils. My poor, pale flesh goes from ghost white to lobster red in fifteen minutes flat. There's never an in-between. B__ut right now, I don't care about that at all. I'm enjoying the warmth too much to worry about what may happen to me in the future._

_My eyes are partly open as I admire the view around me. The sky above is a beautiful azure blue- cloudless and perfect. In my periphery, I can see the tops of the mountains that surround Phoenix. They're not gigantically tall by any means. Rounded and worn down by the winds of past dust storms and time, the mountains are __colored in various shades of brown. Cinnamon. Mocha. Tan. Beige. Colors that belong to the desert. Colors that evoke warmth and relaxation._

_Overall, life here is nice and comfortable. No matter the time of year, it feels like this. But it's not just the nice weather that makes life here perfect. It's everything about this place. It's the way you can sometimes hear the coyotes howling late at night. It's how when the sun sets, the desert sands compliment and enhance the sky's colors. It's the towering cacti and scrub brush that decorate the landscape. It's knowing that, even though I will eventually have to get up from this blanket, that I can always come back tomorrow and resume my sun bathing if I want._

_To put it simply- this is home._

_Through my half lidded eyes, I see a shadow creeping across the sky. With a surge of dread tingling up my spine, my eyes fly open as I helplessly watch what's coming. __Sinister slate-black clouds roll in from all four directions, quickly blocking out the sun and smothering its warmth. At the same time, cold__ winds begin to blow in from the north, making my teeth chatter. The tank top and shorts that I wear offer no protection from the freezing temperatures. And, on top of that, t__he bright, cheery daylight that had previously lit up my backyard has vanished. Now, a dull, lifeless gray atmosphere surrounds and chokes me, it's dreariness leeching out the happiness from everything it touches._

_I jump up from my blanket and plan to run to my house in order to escape, but instead of my bare feet meeting the desert gravel and dirt from my backyard, something grabs at my feet and refuses to let go. I__n a panic, I glance down to find that my feet are stuck in mud. It's wet and slimy and disgusting. Even worse, I discover that the more I struggle to free myself, the more I sink. No__w uncontrollably hyperventilating, I realize how much trouble I'm in. _

_Desperate for help, I look towards my home and see Mom through the living room window. She's curled up on the couch with Phil as they watch something on TV. They're cuddling and smiling, clearly enjoying themselves. She doesn't seem to know what's going on just a few feet away from the window._

_My mouth opens and I scream and scream, urgently trying to catch her attention. But, Mom never turns her head. She doesn't see how I'm suffering. She is in her own world right now. Happy and carefree. And she can't hear me at all._

_As my body sinks down further and further away from everything that I love, I realize that struggling is useless. _

_I'm on my own._

_No one can help me now._

* * *

My eyes snap open wide.

I gasp for air as I rocket up into a sitting position. I soon see that I'm on a bed- not sinking into a muddy black hole. Still, I can't help but make a quick examination of myself to make sure that I'm OK.

And I am.

_None of that was real,_ I tell myself. _It was only a nightmare_.

I'm relieved until I take a good look around me. First, I notice that the walls of my room aren't that lilac purple that Mom and I painted them two years ago- instead they are a light blue. All of the framed pictures and posters I've bought through the years are gone, too. And, sitting atop of a shabby wooden desk is an ancient desktop computer that Bill Gates probably made back when he was tinkering around with electronics during his college days.

Reality slowly hits me.

This isn't home.

I live in Forks now.

Nope... I'm not OK after all. I'm definitely still experiencing a nightmare. And this is one bad dream that I won't be waking up from anytime soon.

With a frustrated sign, I heave myself out of bed and stretch my arms above my head. I glance at my clock and see that I woke up five minutes earlier than normal. I go ahead and flick the alarm switch off before it beeps.

While I continue to wake up, I vaguely notice that the light seeping in through my window is highly unusual today. It's a weird, glowing white that hurts my eyes a little. This is a lot different than the drab gray that you would normally see in the morning here on the Olympic Peninsula. And, even weirder than that, there's no sounds coming from outside. There's no wind blowing against the side of the house. The tree in front of my window is completely still. But, strangest of all, the normally relentless sound of the rain as it hits the roof is absent.

It's quiet.

Almost peaceful...

And I know that there has to be something wrong about this. Something very, very wrong...

Ordinarily, I would be thrilled by this development. No rain usually makes for a happier day. But, common sense tells me to go investigate further before I put on my party hat and celebrate.

I walk over to the window and shove open its lacy curtains. Then I groan. Every tree in sight shimmers with thousands of icy crystals clinging to their branches. My truck's roof and hood have a dusting of snow, sprinkled around like confectioners sugar on a cake. The windshield is covered, too. I'll have to clear away all that snow before I can even think about driving to school. But worse of all, I notice that the sidewalk and road are coated with a thick crust of ice.

Sometime during the night, all that rainwater that came down yesterday froze into this mess. So now, not only will I be forced to trudge through subarctic temperatures, I will also be risking my life trying to maneuver around on slippery sidewalks.

I was not made for living in conditions like this. I have a hard enough time walking on dry, ice-free ground without tripping. I'm going to break my leg the second I put my foot on the driveway.

I think that the Forks welcome sign should come with a warning disclaimer. Something like, "Caution: You thought this place was bad when it's raining? Just wait until winter. P.S. Don't bother getting out of bed if you are accident prone."

I should ask Charlie if the medical facilities here are adequate enough for someone like me. I'm sure the Forks General Hospital will be seeing me a lot if this is what I'll be forced to deal with. Maybe I should send _them_ an advance warning to prepare for a clumsy girl that accidentally cuts herself and breaks bones when she falls. They would probably appreciate it.

After a quick journey to the bathroom, I throw open my closet door to pick out a thick sweater and random pair of jeans. Right before I leave my room, I scoop up my things for school from the desk. And there, right on top, is my Biology textbook.

A second later, my head is filled with thoughts of an emerald-eyed boy with a soothingly deep voice and engaging grin. A boy that leaves me tongue tied one minute and spilling my guts the next.

Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I race downstairs to the kitchen to grab something to eat for breakfast. Charlie's already gone to work for the day, leaving me to fend for myself until he gets home this evening. I dig out a clean bowl and grab a box of Lucky Charms from the pantry to power me through the day. I mean, it should be able to do that since it has enough added sugar to make a diabetic go into shock. Plus, they _are_ called _Lucky__ Charms_. And I'll need all the luck I can get today.

I pry the box open and grab the plastic packaging of the cereal. I pull and pull and pull to try to open it, but it's like General Mills decided to package their cereal in titanium now. It won't budge at all. At their board meetings, do they sit around and gloat at how they've made it impossible for a seventeen year old girl to open a bag of kid's cereal?

I know that I should just go find some scissors, cut the plastic bag open, and stop wasting so much time. But I don't like to admit defeat. I want to do this myself. I take a big breath of air and I pull with a little more force than before. A split second later, I hear a small popping sound and the plastic rips half way down one of its sides. A multicolored shower of marshmallow charms rains down and scatters across the kitchen floor.

I take a minute to evaluate the situation.

This is a definite sign that I should march straight back to bed...

With irritated muttering bordering on cursing, I clean up the mess from the floor. When I eventually sit down to eat my cereal, I'm soon disappointed. After all that hassle, the Lucky Charms aren't very satisfying. They don't even taste magically delicious.

I should have made scrambled eggs instead.

After breakfast is over, I throw on my coat and zip it up nearly to my throat. I know as soon as I open the front door that a blast of freezing air will hit me and transform me from ordinary teenage girl to human icicle. Resigned to my frozen fate, I step outside and my feet start slipping on the iced up steps. My hands latch on to the rail while I silently curse this place to the darkest pits of hell.

After painstakingly shuffling my feet inches at a time to keep from falling down, I finally make it to the relative safety of the yard. I brush off the layer of icky white stuff on the windshield of the truck and then climb into the cab. Before I turn the ignition, I take a second to mentally prepare myself. I'm a little nervous about driving today. Back in Phoenix, the only time I ever worried about ice was when I drove Mom's car while simultaneously sipping on a Slurpie from 7-Eleven. Today, on the other hand, I will be driving down a road that is basically nothing more than an ice cube with painted yellow lines. I'll be lucky if I don't slide right off the street and straight into a tree today.

I rev up the engine and carefully back out of the yard. My fingers nervously dig into the steering wheel as I drive down the road. What I see does not comfort me. The further I distance myself from the house, the more skid marks I notice. A lot of people besides me must be having a tough time driving today. I even witness an old blue-haired woman almost skid her Cadillac into a small ditch before she managed to regain control.

As for my own driving, I gradually notice that the truck is handling the journey better than I expected. It's almost like there's no ice on the road at all. The ride is pretty smooth and uneventful. Sure, the truck makes funny noises and sometimes puffs of black smoke come out of the tailpipe, but this is completely normal for a vehicle that's older than Charlie. I glance at the dashboard and see that I'm even running a few minutes early. For the span of ten seconds, I am content for once.

Five seconds after that, I get a good glimpse of the school. And I moan in supreme agony.

The school looks worse than the nightmare I had this morning. Huge patches of ice are spread throughout the student parking area. I try to find a parking spot where there's not as much ice, but I soon realize that it's impossible. The area is more skating rink than parking lot. As if to prove my point, I see dozens of students hanging out towards the rear of the lot where the ice is in larger patches. Most are laughing as they try to walk across the concrete without slipping. A few have fun as they run and slide across the ice while wearing nothing but ordinary shoes and sneakers.

I half expect to see some girl in a tacky sequined outfit gliding around on the ice accompanied by judges holding up her score. I wouldn't be surprised if I see Tonya Harding out here bawling over her unlaced ice skates.

This is not good for me. Not good at all...

Most of the kids seem thrilled with all of the ice and wintry fun. As for myself, I'm _really_ not looking forward to doing a triple klutz in front of everyone.

I give up on trying to find a good spot and park in a random place. After shutting the engine off, I grab my things from the seat, fling the driver's side door open, and look down. My lips curl up contemptuously as I examine the icy pavement up close. It is my mortal enemy. Its mission- to humiliate me in front of the entire school. But I refuse to allow that to happen to myself. _I can do this_, I think.

With fierce determination, I drop my legs out of the truck and my boots hit the concrete.

Then my feet slide out from under me.

Frantically, I flail my arms around like a crazy person, hoping to catch myself on something before I fall and crack my skull open. And as luck would have it, my fingers do grab onto something before I hurt myself. I'm now clinging for dear life to the truck's door frame. I pull myself up into a standing position and take a quick survey of my general area. I hope that no one noticed my almost fall. That would be embarrassing. I wasn't able to take even one step before I almost fell in front of everyone...

I glance to my left and notice that something is shining on my back tire. It's a little beacon that's catching what little daylight we have and reflecting it back at me. A surge of curiosity builds up inside of me as I stand here. After a few seconds of thought, I realize that the only thing it could be are snow chains. Charlie must have gotten up at the crack of dawn to put them on. This revelation blows my mind.

He was worried that I would crash and die on the icy, hazardous streets today.

And he did it without me having to even ask...

A lump forms in my throat.

Charlie has never been overly demonstrative of his feelings. I know that he loves me and he knows that I love him, but we don't go around broadcasting it. We just know. We don't need to say the actual words.

I'm not sure how he wound up with Mom. She's a huge hugger. And she believes that you need to say "I love you" to someone every few minutes just so they don't forget how you feel.

This is probably one of the reasons why their marriage didn't last very long.

But, this... The fact that Charlie went out of his way to attach snow chains on my truck's tires in the freezing cold tells me more about how he feels than a hundred hugs ever could.

Without another thought, I begin to move towards the rear of the truck. I want to see the snow chains for myself. I hold on tightly to the truck's door frame and begin to shimmy my way to the back. Unfortunately, it's slow going. My feet can only move a few inches at a time if I don't want to wind up slipping and falling.

"Having trouble today?" croons a deep voice from beside me.

My body simultaneously flinches and my feet come out from under me. _Again_. But this time I lose the grip I had on the truck's frame. I realize that I'm going down. And there's absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.

But instead of meeting the cold, wet concrete, I feel a pair of large hands catch me by my shoulders. As they push me back up, I see a mop of untamed bronze hair. My eyes travel downwards from that head of hair until I meet Edward Masen's troubled face staring back at me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," he tells me, somehow managing to sound both soothing and sorrowful at the same time.

After I'm fully erect and he releases the firm grasp he had on my shoulders, I immediately turn away from him so I can grab onto the truck frame. That's when it dawns on me that I almost busted my butt. In broad daylight. With Edward standing two feet away. And he had to _catch me_ because, apparently, I am a hopeless klutz.

Bye, bye pride. It was nice knowing you...

For a moment, a stray thought pops into my head. I wonder if the Cullen family normally sneaks up on random people just so they can catch them when they fall? Alice did it to me last Wednesday, and now her adopted brother does it today. Maybe they have some weird fetish where they feel the need to go around saving people. Like superheroes or something. Or, maybe they're just really, really bored. This is Forks after all.

After attempting to regather the few scraps of dignity I have left, I peek behind my shoulder and notice that he has taken a step back. His mossy green eyes keep cautiously flicking up and down as he watches me, like he's making sure that I'm not going to collapse into a heap the second his back is turned. Which, to be completely honest, is very likely considering my track record for today.

But he doesn't need to know that...

"You didn't," I claim, holding my head up high. A breeze blows a strand of hair in my face and it tickles my nose until I tuck it behind my ear. "I was just caught off guard." My theory is, if you state something confidently enough, nearly anything will sound convincing. I almost believed it myself.

The tiny frown that had been on Edward's face vanishes. A few seconds later, one corner of his mouth cocks up into a lopsided smile. "I came over to see if you needed any help. It seemed like you were having a rough time of it."

At the sight of that smile, my brain cells start to faint from lack of oxygen. I whirl my upper torso away from that deadly grin on the pretext of needing to close my truck's door. I take a calming breath before I face him again. "Really, it's fine. It's just a little slippery." Then, as I say these reassuring words, my foot slips on a patch of ice. Because God obviously is a strong supporter of ironic humor.

I make a desperate lurch towards the truck's side mirror to catch myself before I fall, but Edward's right there catching me again before I can comprehend what's happening. I feel his hands enveloping my shoulders as he pushes me back into a standing position. But even when I'm back on my own two feet, he doesn't let go. My eyes confusedly blink a few times as I try to clear my head, then I take a look at him.

"Yes, it is a _little_ slippery," he says with a touch of laughter in his tone. "And I think you may need a _little_ help."

He's standing there with a huge grin on his face. Even the corners of his eyes are crinkled a little. And speaking of his eyes... They are bright and sparkling as he stares down at me. He looks happy. Almost like he-

A second later, my eyes narrow at him.

He thinks this is _funny._

Watching an uncoordinated girl that can't walk five inches without making a fool of herself must be a laugh riot. I guess he gets a kick out of watching old ladies that fall and can't get up, too.

My eyes flash up at him, highly annoyed by the fact that he was still grinning at me like I'm some clown that falls for the laughs. "This isn't funny," I hiss at him.

He presses his lips together, hiding that amused smile, as he exaggeratedly nods his head up and down. "I agree," he tries to tell me with a straight face, but I can easily see the laughter making his eyes dance. "It really isn't funny that you refuse-"

A loud screeching sound drowns out whatever he was about to say. His attention snaps away from teasing me and he turns to face the nearby street. I follow his gaze until I spot a dark blue van skidding across the parking lot. Almost transfixed by what is going on, I stand rooted in place as I watch it race, closer and closer, towards us.

Just as I realize that the van might hit the back of my truck, strong arms wrap around my waist and I'm hoisted off my feet. Since quick movements sometimes make me dizzy, I'm unsure of what is exactly going on. All I know is that my body is being pressed into the front of a hard chest as I'm being limply dragged around like a rag doll.

A horrible crash thunders into my ears and a tiny, surprised yelp comes from my throat. Not even a whole second later, I feel gravity bringing me down. My fingers instinctively dig into the jacketed chest as though it were a lifeline- as though it would save me. I prepare myself for the feel of the intense pain I will no doubt be experiencing at any moment once I hit the concrete.

But, I never feel a thing.

Dazedly, I blink my eyes for a few seconds. I gradually focus on Edward's face positioned several inches away from mine. His eyes are clamped shut. A tiny voice inside of my head tells me that he was the one that picked me up and that he fell while he was carrying me. As I'm forming the words to ask if he's alright, his eyes fly back open and he stares back at me with a confused look slapped on his face. He's not talking, but at least he seems uninjured. He's not writhing in pain as far as I can tell.

With only inches separating us, I notice things about him that had bypassed all of my previous observations of him. His eyelashes are a shade or two darker than the hair on his head. His nose is straight and evenly proportioned, reminding me of some Renaissance era statue you might see in the Louvre. Yet what fascinates me the most are the eyes. Always his eyes, it seems. Swirls of dark jade mingle inside of the sea of emerald green, sparkling brightly despite the lack of sunlight.

Like I said, he seems OK to me. But, as for me, I'm definitely not OK. Because, the longer I sit here staring into the warm sea green of his irises, the more dizzy I feel.

Breaking through my thoughts, I notice Edward move his head and wince a little. Whatever anger I may have felt towards him earlier frizzles out and disappears entirely. I can only feel my guilty conscience tugging for my attention now. And all I can think of is that he thought he was helping me, and he wound up hurting himself in the process.

I am a jinx.

Not only do I inflict suffering upon myself, I draw it towards any bystander that has the misfortune of being too close to me. I should banish myself away from society before I accidentally bring down the entire human race with my clumsiness and bad luck.

Besides, that stupid van was going to hit the back of the truck. I would have been fine where I was. Edward hurt himself for no reason...

I tear my focus away from his piercing gaze and guiltily squeeze my eyes shut. I take a moment to try to settle myself back down. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I roughly swallow and reopen my eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that," I tell him, looking him straight in the eye.

I'm met with only mystified, blinking green eyes for a short time, almost like he cannot speak. Just when I'm starting to worry that he injured himself worse than I thought, he finally says something. "Excuse me?" he asks with knitted brows.

"The van. It was going to hit the _back_ of my truck. We were at the front. I would have been fine where I was," I try to explain.

His eyebrows scrunch together even more as he stares back at me. "You would rather that I had risked both of our lives with _just the hope_ that it would only hit the back of your vehicle and not us?"

Before I can fully absorb what he said, a voice interrupts from nearby, diverting my attention. "Edward!" the clearly feminine voice yells

The sound forces me to look around for the first time since this all started. I see nothing but chaos all around us. Students and teachers are rushing around frantically towards a crushed van thirty feet away. People are yelling as they try to remove the driver. And, I notice that I am no longer at the driver's side of the truck. Now we're a few feet away from the front bumper.

But I believe the most terrifying thing about it all is the fact that I am lying on top of Edward Masen. In the student parking lot. With his sister stalking towards us with a gigantic frown on her face.

"It's all right!" I hear Edward reassuring Alice.

Oh, Edward... It's really, _really_ not. My face has caught on fire from the deep blush I'm sporting. And you're just resting underneath me with your arms locked around my waist like you do this with a girl every day of the week.

"Are you sure that you're not bleeding or anything?" Alice asks from a distance. The mention of blood worries me for a second. If Edward is bleeding, I might pass out since both the sight and smell makes me sick. And fainting on top of him will definitely not make this situation any better for me...

He rolls his eyes a tiny bit before he answers her. "No blood. I just bumped my head."

She comes closer until she's nearly on top of us. "Are you _sure_ you're OK?" she stresses.

"Yes." As he tells her this, he heaves out a heavy sigh and unconsciously squeezes me tighter around my middle. I know that I should be reminding him of our predicament, but I'm having difficulty forming words right now.

"Thank goodness," Alice mutters while looking down at her brother. Her golden yellow eyes suddenly dart over to me. A beaming grin appears on her face. All I can think is that she has noticed that I am on top of her brother. And she's trying valiantly not to laugh.

Alice gives me a quick, covert wink before speaking to Edward again. "I think you can let go of Bella now."

His eyebrows pinch together in deep puzzlement for a few beats. Then, very slowly, Edward tentatively tears his gaze away from Alice and takes a good look around us. I can almost see the lightbulb of realization go off in his head once he finally notices that the klutzy girl he had to catch today is using him as a mattress.

His arms unlocked from my waist and I roll off until I meet the chilly concrete. Alice appears in front of me and kindly offers her hand to pull me up. I gratefully accept it.

_The poor girl's fingers are practically frozen_, I think as I lift myself up from the ground. _She should really wear gloves..._

"Are you OK?" she asks me, interrupting my mental observation of her.

No, Alice. There will probably be pictures in the yearbook showing me casually lounging on your brother because I was too busy studying his eyelashes and pretty eyes. I think it's safe to say that I'm in trouble...

"I'm fine," I say instead.

When in doubt, claim that you are fine.

Maybe if I say this enough, it will even be true.

I glance down while I'm speaking to see what Edward's up to. He's cautiously rising until he's in a sitting position on the pavement, his long legs stretching out in front of himself. I look over at Alice and notice that she still seems worried about him. "I think he took the brunt of the fall," I quietly add.

One of her black brows arches upwards as she hums to herself. "Let me see something, Edward," she demands while she skips over to him. Edward warily looks up at her like he's about to question her intentions, but she bends down and starts rubbing her little white fingers at the back of his head before he can say anything.

"Ow!" he yelps out with a scathing glare at Alice. His square jaw is clenched and grinding slightly. There's even a vein popping out of the side of his neck as he scowls at her. Evidently, Edward is a little grumpy right now.

But his sister hasn't lost the bright smile from her elven face. His anger doesn't seem to faze her at all. "I thought so," she says in a knowing voice. "Carlisle needs to examine you."

"I said that I'm perfectly fine, Alice," he insists.

She nonchalantly shrugs her shoulder. "OK. I'll just make a call to Esme and let her know that you were in a horrific car crash at school, but you refuse to be medically examined. I_'m sure_ _she won't mind at all."_

The grumpy face he was making instantly vanishes the second Alice says "Esme". I'm guessing that Esme is their Mom by the way he's now nervously dragging his hand through his hair.

"You win," he breathes out.

A curly haired figure zips out from behind a parked SUV around thirty feet away. Jessica takes a brief look at me. A quick glance at Alice. Then her mouth gapes open wider than a trout's when she spots Edward sitting on the cold cement.

"Oh. My. God!" Jessica squawks, nearly taking out my eardrums.

Edward's entire body stiffens in visible alarm at the sound of her voice. His reaction reminds me of one those nature TV shows that film gazelles the moment they realize that a lioness is about to eat them.

His eyes look pleadingly up at his sister. "Alice. If you value my sanity at all, please keep Jessica Stanley at least a dozen feet from me right now," he requests in a low, desperate sounding voice.

She nods her head while not bothering to hide the small smirk attached to her face. "Will do," she replies as an ambulance's siren wails towards the school. She backs up a few steps and positions herself in front of Jessica's path, forming a living blockade.

Jessica appears seconds later behind Alice. She's standing on her tip toes in order to peek at Edward over his sister's head. "Is it true? Did you really almost get hit by Tyler's van?" she excitedly asks him.

For the first time since I rolled off of him, Edward's eyes flick over to look at me for a second before they dart away. "That, apparently, is up for debate," he remarks casually, but the way his jaw clenches makes me think he's not very happy with me right now.

My bottom lip immediately is assaulted by my teeth. I chew and chew and chew down on it as he begins to stand up. Everything is happening so quickly. The ambulance pulls up. A gurney is being dragged out from the back. I can vaguely see a wobbling boy being strapped down on it. People are breathlessly chattering in the background as all of these things happen. All the noise and chaos is way too distracting for me right now. I know I should say something to Edward, but I'm not sure what exactly it should be. I wish there was time to think...

As I'm pondering over everything, Alice drops her bodyguard duties and rushes over to Edward. "No, Edward," she tells him as she nudges him to sit back down. "You need to stay there until they wheel the stretcher over."

He completely ignores her instructions and goes about standing up on his own. With probing eyes, he peers down at her, almost like he's challenging Alice to disagree with him. "That wasn't a part of our deal," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'll go to the hospital, but I'm riding in the front. I'm not injured enough for a stretcher."

Alice lets out a disgruntled breath and rolls her eyes at him, making her annoyance clear. "I should have known you'd find a loophole," she huffs. Then, without another word, he side-steps his sister, strolls up to the ambulance, and climbs into the passenger side of the vehicle.

A pair of hands grab me by my shoulders and I'm yanked around in the opposite direction. Jessica is standing there with a crazed look in her eyes - they almost look like they are twitching in their sockets. Her breathing has become erratic as she squeezes my shoulders. "Bella," she slowly drawls. "Alex Simpson told me that Tyler's van hit your truck, and that you were standing there with Edward when it happened. _Tell me everything_."

My feet nervously shift as I try to come up with a way to avoid this conversation. "Well, umm, Jessica, there's really not much to say that you probably haven't heard already."

Her head shakes back and forth, ignoring my claim. "I need _details_, Bella," she presses while staring me down. "Alex barely knew anything. And you were there with Edward, right? Just...tell me what happened. _Please_?"

I take a peek behind me to see what Alice was making of this, but I can't find her. She probably fled the second Jessica opened her mouth to interrogate me. Alice is obviously a lot smarter than I am.

Sighing in defeat, I decide to give Jessica the story she wants to hear - with heavy editing, of course. I don't want to exactly report to her that I am a clumsily, uncoordinated girl that Edward felt sorry for because she almost fell three times in his presence.

"I was getting out of my truck and Edward started talking to me." This is pretty much true. Kind of.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jessica cuts in. Her eyebrow is cocked up at me like she's sure that I'm making this up. "Hold on for a sec. Are you saying that he walked over to your truck and started _talking_ to you? Like, out of the blue? You didn't have to - uhh - track him down or _anything_?"

"No. It really wasn't a big deal," I tell her, trying to downplay our interaction. "He just came by and mentioned that it was kind of slippery around here this morning. We didn't say very much before that van started skidding around."

Her mouth purses out as she mulls this information over, savoring it the same way a wine critic tests a vintage label. "It hit your truck, right? I bet that was pretty scary. Watching a van barreling towards you, making you wonder if you're gonna die? I mean, wow! That's gotta be, like, totally terrifying, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it was."

"How bad is the damage?"

"Oh, I haven't looked yet."

"Why not?" she wonders.

"Well, Edward and I landed in front of the truck and we just kinda stayed here after that. I guess I should go check it out now..."

A firm, tiny hand clamps back down on my shoulder, pinning me in place. Jessica's face has an undercurrent of hysteria running through it as she stares back at me. "_Bella_," she sing-songs in a strange voice. "What do you mean by 'Edward and I _landed_'?"

Without thinking of the consequences, my mouth starts to explain before I can stop to think what I should tell her. "When the van was coming, Edward thought that it was going to hit us, so he picked me up and brought me here. But I think he must have slipped or something because we wound up on the ground. Don't worry, I'm sure he's OK. His sister thought he should be checked out at the ER as just a precaution."

Sometime during my explanation, her eyes glazed over. I count to thirty before she even blinks again.

"Jessica? What's wrong?"

"You... He... What.. How?" she babbles.

When Jessica can't talk, you know that something is seriously wrong with her. I lead her to the hood of the truck and encouraged her to sit on the bumper before she passes out. "Are you OK now?" I ask, hoping that she will snap out of her daze. She takes a few breaths and briefly closes her eyes. When they reopen, she looks normal once again.

Her hands urgently clutch at my jacket and pulls me towards her. "Are you telling me he_ touched you_?" she stresses in disbelief. I look at her face and observe that her eye is doing that twitching thing again. It must be a weird, nervous tick she has that I've never noticed before.

"Not really," I answer her. "All he did was lift me up. It's not like we held hands or anything."

"How did it feel?" she presses while hanging on my every word.

My mouth twists to its side. I wasn't sure of this question myself. Everything happened so fast.

"I don't know," I reply with a shrug. "I wasn't really paying attention."

With an exasperated huff, she rolls her eyes up to the sky. "Why, God? Why did you bless someone that can't even appreciate what you did for them?" Her eyes land back on me and she gives me a sad, disapproving shake of her head. "You had a boy that looks like he just stepped out of every girls daydream not only engage in a conversation with you, but also hold you and possibly save your life... And you can't even describe how it feels!? Do you understand how much this is killing me?"

"_Save_ me?" I repeat incredulously.

"Yeah. _Save you_. Do you realize how many times I've dreamed for something like that to happen to me, Bella? Heck, that's pretty much all I do during Trig is fantasize about him rescuing me. And here you have him talk to you, swoop in, and rescue you. Then, you tell me that you weren't paying enough _attention_ to give me details!" She let's go of my jacket and covers her face to muffle her scream of frustration.

"No. That's not what happened. He didn't really 'rescue me'. The van hit the _back_ of my truck. Edward and I were standing near the driver's door. We were far enough away from the crash that we would have been fine where we were. I think he must have panicked when it was coming, so he grabbed me and brought us here."

She silently blinks back at me for a while. Then, she releases a long, drawn out sigh.

"Bella, Bella, Bella," she tuts. "No one can really say where that van would hit, you know. It could have changed course and went right at you. I mean, you were lucky that it hit the back of the truck. But what if it didn't? What if it veered a little to the left instead? You would have been hit, right?"

I was about to contradict her, but my mouth snapped back shut before I could speak. A half dozen thoughts began to shout for my attention. Memories of what happened just a few minutes ago begin to hit me square in the eye. And what Jessica just told me makes me reevaluate my own actions.

The curly haired girl that normally makes me worry for her sanity is apparently more observant than I am today. She didn't see the accident at all, yet she showed more wisdom than the person who had.

"Oh, no," I moan.

"What's wrong?"

"I... I think I messed up, Jessica. Really bad."

"What did you do?"

"Umm... I-uh... I kinda told Edward that he shouldn't have done what he did. Actually, I pretty much told him what I told you..."

"You what!?" she shrieks with bulging eyes.

"Shh!" I hiss as I glance around us. I don't want to draw a crowd over to us. I'd like to keep the embarrassment down to a minimum.

She lowers her voice and bewilderingly shakes her head. "I can't. I just can't believe this... You told the boy that was trying to save your life that he shouldn't have? Are you crazy? You've probably made him into a complete mess, questioning everything that he did for you. And now he'll _never_ rescue anyone ever again!" she laments. Then, she stares off into the distance, her face wistful. "Well, there goes the chance for him to fulfill _that_ fantasy..." she whispers.

While she is busily pondering on what might have been, I'm looking back on what just transpired earlier. No wonder he seemed so annoyed before he left to go the hospital. I didn't even tell him "thanks" or anything. I basically told him that he was wrong and overreacted...

"Hey, Bella," Jessica says, interrupting my guilty thoughts. "Look. Your dad's here now."

My neck snaps to the right and I scan the parking lot until I spot where Charlie's police cruiser is parked. A tall man in a police uniform steps out of the driver's side. Charlie and I don't look very much alike- I have a lot of Mom in me. But he and I do share a few traits. Our hair color is almost identical, as well as the shade of our brown eyes. Also, we both like our privacy and independence. We have an unspoken agreement that as long as I don't spray graffiti on Reverend Weber's church, or come in after 11:30 on the weekend, that he'll let me to go about as I please. And since I have absolutely no talent as an artist to warrant spray painting anything or even have a social life where I would be out later than nine o'clock, he appreciates having me as his daughter even more.

Charlie marches towards the demolished van and starts questioning bystanders. The windshield of the van is busted and glass lay strewn all around the area. The front is smashed in like a soda can after it has been crushed. The driver's side door is barely hanging on to its hinges. I'm no mechanic, but it doesn't look like the van is fixable...

A guy from a grade above me is stopped by Charlie and the guy yammers away for a while. I see Charlie extract his notepad and begin scribbling down whatever the guy is telling him. The guy starts wildly gesturing with his hands as he speaks. Charlie's head suddenly jerks at something the guy just said, and his eyes dart around frantically until they find me.

It takes me a lot longer than it should have to realize that the guy is telling my dad about the accident his daughter was involved in...

I fight to keep a grimace from forming on my face and give Charlie a halfhearted wave.

_See, Dad? _ I try to say without words. _I'm standing and waving at the same time. I even have all ten fingers and ten toes. So, everything's good with me. No need to worry yourself..._

But Charlie doesn't appear to interpret it the way I want him to. To me, it looks like he's doing exactly what I don't want. And that's freaking out.

He's nearly sprinting across the icy parking lot, making me terrified that he's going to slip on the ice and break a hip. But he's not permanently balance-challenged like I am. He makes it over to me just fine.

"Are you hurt?" are the first words out of his mouth. His mustache is moving like crazy, reminding me of a caterpillar wiggling around. This is a certain sign that he is upset.

"I'm fine," I soothingly answer. "I'm not hurt at all."

He takes a deep breath and leans against the truck's hood. He crosses his arms and takes the time to scrutinize me before he says anything else- like he's not taking my word for it until he makes sure that I'm fine for himself.

"Well, you're lucky then," he says after his exam is done. "I hear that Crowley kid is pretty banged up. And from what I was told, you were right in that van's path before you moved out of its way. You could have seriously hurt yourself."

"Oh, no, Chief Swan," crowed Jessica with a dreamy smile. "Bella didn't move by herself at all. She was rescued!"

My eyes flashed down at her, furious that she would let something like that slip out to my _father_. If he thought that I was feeble enough where I couldn't save myself, he'll never let me leave the house without an escort...

"Rescued?" Charlie repeats with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah!" Jessica eagerly continues. "Edward scooped her up and away from danger. Isn't it cool?"

"Is that true?" he asks me.

"Kind of..." I admit with a frown.

Once he sees that I'm not planning on being more forthcoming with information like the blabbermouth sitting on the bumper, he starts asking her question after question. _Who was it that saved me? Where was I when the van was coming my way? Was I really as unhurt as I claimed?_

"I already told you that I didn't get hurt," I snap irritably at him.

One of his eyebrows and his mustache arch up at me, which I have to say, was something I have never seen him do before. It was almost impressive...

"Yes, well, I have to get multiple witness statements. And your friend here seems to be chock full of interesting info that you didn't supply," he counters with a tiny smile.

He asks a few more questions and then decides to go check the truck for damage. The three of us round the truck to its back and are shocked to see that it looks almost the same. There's a broken taillight and a few scratches, but otherwise it's fine. If that speeding van made any dents, they are blending in nicely with what was already there.

Since I'm uninjured, I prepare to get to class even though I'm running a few minutes late. I'm pretty sure that word has gotten around to the teachers that there was an accident, and they'll agree that I have a valid excuse for my tardiness. Charlie tells me that I shouldn't drive the truck until he can fix the taillight this evening. Jessica offers to drop me home after school and I hastily accept before he can tell me that he'll pick me up in the police cruiser. I don't mind being seen with my dad, but I do not want everyone to gawp at me while entering his car. I get stared at enough for just being the new girl.

I grab on to Jessica's elbow to keep from falling while she leads me towards class. Before we make it too far, Charlie calls out my name and I stop to look behind me. He's nervously stroking his mustache, a sure sign that he has bad news to share. "Don't worry about cooking tonight, Bells. We'll stop by the diner and eat there," he tells me.

I'm thrilled by the news. I haven't eaten out since I moved away from Phoenix. And having a night off from kitchen duties sounds great. I don't understand why he looks so worried about it...

As I'm cheering inside of my head, Charlie continues. "The only thing I want you to do is call your mother and tell her what happened today."

My brain freezes.

All happiness has died.

_Oh, no..._

The woman that hysterically cried when she watched a Hollywood movie studio recreate the sinking of the Titanic will today be informed that her daughter had her very own near brush with Death...

And I will be trying to comfort the woman that's roughly 3000 miles away over the phone.

I _knew_ I should have stayed in bed today...

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Guess what? This story is not dead! My other fic is complete, so you can expect to see this updated much more often than before.**

**And if you followed me here from Forward To The Future, I just want to say hi and thanks. **

**Do you know what I work for? Your review. Tell me what you think. If you enjoyed reading this chapter- tell me. If you think that this was the dumbest thing ever- let me know. I promise I won't cry (very much). **

**Next chapter\- Bella deals with an insecure Mike, talks to a frantic Mom on the phone, and tries to come up with a way to apologize to Edward. But will he even accept it?**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**

**Edit December 3, 2019\- *climbing up on my soapbox* **

**I am writing this to clear up any possible confusion from something I wrote in this chapter. When I mentioned Tonya Harding crying, I was referring to when her skate laces broke during the Olympics. I was NOT referring to when Nancy Kerrigan was attacked and beaten by Harding's husband's accomplice. THAT is something I would never poke fun at.**

***hopping back off my soapbox***


	4. Nobody Told Me

**Chapter 4- Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These**

**January 25, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

I have been a student at Forks High for exactly one week.

Through no encouragement of my own, I somehow became the primary focus of attention here for those first two or three days. Nearly every student, it seemed, introduced themselves and tried to ask me a ton of questions. They then listened to my admittedly lackluster responses as if I were the most interesting thing that happened in Forks since the guy that runs the auto parts store claimed he saw bigfoot out near the Reservation last month.

And, on top of everything else, they stared at me. _A lot._

By the end of the first school week, the unwanted attention that I drew had slowly slackened off. People began to stare at me a little less now that my arrival was no longer considered breaking news. Students said "hi" to me and smiled when they passed by, but they no longer accosted me like I was a celebrity. For the first time, I thought that maybe it wasn't as bad here as I had feared. I hoped that I could reattain the low profile I enjoyed back at my school in Phoenix, avoid the usual high school drama and bypass the unwanted attention, and eventually flee this place the second after Principal Greene hands me my diploma.

But now I see that I was delusional. Having a "low profile" here is impossible when your bad luck attracts speeding vans that threaten to mow you down in front of half of the student population.

Thanks to the accident this morning, everyone is back to barraging me with questions and uncomfortably staring at me again. Yes, they are shocked that an out-of-control van slid on some ice and crashed into my truck. Of course they are fascinated by the fact that I could have been smashed flatter than Wile E. Coyote in a Looney Tunes cartoon. Yet, what seems to rivet them the most is not the "why" or "how" the accident happened. No. It's the "who" that happened to be there with me that intrigues them.

Turns out that being rescued by a male member of the handsome but private Cullen family has only made me appear one hundred times more interesting to these people.

The most commonly asked question seems to be, "How did Edward become involved?" And my explanation that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time only seems to be adding more fuel to their insatiable curiosity. Much like Jessica earlier, no one seems to understand why he would have went out of his way to see me this morning. I know the reason, of course. He saw me nearly fall in the parking lot and he felt sorry for me. But there's no way I'm going to admit that to these people, so I only give them the bare bones explanation to placate them.

I have a feeling that if it had been someone else that helped me this morning the interest would be dramatically less. Take Eric Yorkie, for example. Don't misunderstand me. There's nothing wrong about Eric, per se. We usually sit at the same lunch table and we share a couple of classes together, so I've gotten to know him a little bit. From what I've seen, he seems like a good person. However, he's not exactly the most captivating person around here. He's the type of guy that would be sporting a pocket protector if they weren't already deemed "too nerdy" to wear at school. And his Dungeons & Dragons obsession isn't helping his reputation either.

But I would give nearly anything to be in his shoes today. At least he can eat his lunch in peace. Unlike Miss Popularity here.

I usually don't like confrontation. It's difficult for me to tell seemingly nice people that they are bothering me and that I just want to be left alone. So, when throngs of kids descended upon our lunch table while all I wanted to do was eat, I forced a smile and said nothing to discourage them. The same questions seemed to come up over and over again, making me wonder if it would be easier if I just climbed on top of the table and made an impromptu question & answer session since everyone was already in the room anyway. It would attract more attention, but at least I would get the task of dealing with three hundred and fifty curious students out of the way sooner.

Right around the time when I believed that my brain was on the verge of flatlining, Jessica volunteered to take over question answering duties, becoming my pseudo-spokesperson, in a way. Since she enjoys the limelight and doesn't mind constantly talking, she appeared to relish the job. Besides, talking about Edward to a captive audience was probably her wish come true.

In a surprising move, the other girl that usually sits at the table became an unexpected ally. Angela and I haven't spoken a whole lot since I've moved here. We both seem to be the reserved, quiet type that takes a while to feel comfortable around others. That's probably why we haven't interacted very much. So, when she began explaining to the hordes of students that I needed a break from their attention and that they should move on, she became my instant friend. I gave her a genuine smile and made a mental note to talk to her more often.

After Angela's intervention, I was able to relax and look around the room. I soon spotted the Cullens sitting across the lunchroom, all present at their table except for Edward. Three of them appeared normal. Well, as normal as you can describe three perfect human specimens. Yet, the fourth member was most definitely not happy today. Blonde bombshell Rosalie looked furious for some reason, her fury resembling some avenging goddess whose devotees had displeased her in some way. Her hardened eyes kept sweeping around the table, focusing individually upon her various family members as they spoke to her. I never saw her speak at all. After I watched Alice passionately waving her arms around as she spoke, Rosalie abruptly jumped up from the table and stormed out of the cafeteria. Her boyfriend and siblings remained seated for a couple of minutes longer before they followed after her. I was disappointed. I had been hoping all morning that Alice would find me and let me know if she had any word about how Edward was doing. Instead, she zipped away without so much as a glance in my direction.

Today felt like one of those never ending days that you occasionally experience. I can't wait until I can get out of here, go home, and try to unwind after having dealt with all of the craziness. So when Biology class is finally over, I'm relieved that I have only one class left before I can finally escape. As usual, Mike Newton offers to escort me to Gym. Although I've only known this boy for a week, it feels like I know absolutely everything there is to know about him. He's a very talkative type of guy that loves to share every teeny detail about his life to anyone willing to listen. And since I would rather listen to his stories than talk about myself, he pretty much keeps talking the entire time that we are together. Yes, I'll admit that his tales are not the most exciting. Actually, to tell the truth, they are usually downright boring. But he always seems so happy whenever he's telling me some humdrum anecdote that I couldn't possibly hurt his feelings by telling him that I have read IRS tax memos that were more entertaining. So, I usually keep my mouth shut, smile politely, and nod at him whenever he starts talking. Normally this strategy keeps him happy and makes him believe that I'm greatly intrigued by our conversation.

Yet I realized earlier that something is different about Mike today. Instead of his usual cheery and talkative disposition, he remained ruminatively silent for most of the day. Even during lunch when nearly every guy and girl bombarded me with questions, he never said a word. Because of that, when he begins talking to me as we walk to Gym, I'm a little surprised.

"Hey, Bella," he musingly draws out. I glance over at him as we walk and see that he seems hesitant, almost like he's unsure if he should be talking at all. "Did I ever tell you about the time that a young couple came into the store one day to buy new hiking boots and that they almost made a terrible mistake?"

"I don't think so," I reply as I shake my head.

Mike clears his throat and a small smile appears on his face, appearing a little more confident than before. "Good. You'll love this then... OK. So, this couple goes and tries to buy their normal shoe size before they head out to hike the North Ridge Trail, right? Well, thank goodness that I was working that morning and caught their mistake, because otherwise there's no telling what would have happened to them. Can you believe they didn't know that you should always buy your hiking boots a half of a size larger than usual so your foot will have room to swell? I mean, they would have developed blisters and become stranded out in the middle of nowhere if I hadn't said anything."

I politely smile. Then nod. "Oh. Well, that's... great that you helped them out like that," I haltingly say.

He gauges my reaction for a few seconds before a huge grin lightens up his face, evidently confusing my politeness with enthusiasm. My smile and nod tactic works a little too well on him, I guess. He's practically strutting alongside me now.

"Yeah. They sure were grateful to me that day," he boasts. "You could even say that I may have saved their lives."

"Uhh..." I nervously hum. I'm not sure how I should respond. Are blisters really that dangerous?

"Because not everyone has the courage to let a customer know when they're wrong," he insists with feeling. "But I'm not like most people. I've worked at the sporting goods store for long enough now where I think it's my job to share my knowledge with the less well informed. When I see someone about to do something wrong, I speak up."

"That's good, Mike," I nod. Then I smile. I'm trying to alternate between the two so he doesn't catch on.

He allows a few, brief moments of silence to pass by before he speaks again. "You know, that's not the only time I saved someone, Bella," he continues as we enter the gym.

"Really?"

"Sure!" he eagerly blurts out. "You see, I was out making a delivery to Mr. Conover's house when I parked my car in between his house and the house next door. I remember hearing a weird crying sound when I first stepped out of the car, but I didn't think much of it at the time. It wasn't until I was about to leave did I decide to investigate." He and I stop walking once we're standing in front of the girl's locker room. Then he continues on. "So I start wandering around the area, straining my ears to figure out where that crazy noise was coming from. You'll _never_ guess what I found."

He's standing here keenly staring at me, like he really expects me to guess. I want to tell him that playing the Guessing Game feels the same to me as being thrown a surprise party. And there's almost nothing on earth that I despise more than surprises.

But I choose to keep this trait about myself quiet for now. I slap on a fake smile as I answer him. "Gee, Mike. I have no idea."

He leans in a little, his grin settling into a satisfied smirk before he reveals the answer. By the way his icy blue eyes are excitedly sparking, I almost suspect he's about to tell me that E.T. had been hiding in the bushes, or that he found a wormhole to an alternate universe.

So, when he shares the real answer, I'm admittedly a tad bit disappointed...

"A cat!" he excitedly divulges with one eyebrow smugly cocked up. "Up in a tree. It had been stuck up there all morning. I later found out that it belonged to one of the people that lived across the street. You may have heard of them before... _The Woodsons_."

I blink a few times as my brain skims through the list of people that I know that live here. Since I've only been here for a week, my mental tally lasts for around five seconds before I start frowning. When Mike finally notices that I'm not saying anything, he goes ahead and tells me who these people are. "You know. The mayor and his wife?" he clarifies.

"Oh," I say as I uneasily purse out my lips.

"Well," he energetically goes on, unperturbed by my lack of interest. "I'm standing there, staring up at this cat caught in a tree, and say to myself, 'Mister Prissypants has been stuck up there for hours. He might starve to death. If I don't get him down, no one else will.' Not even a second later after that, I start climbing up that tree, not caring about the risks and determined to save that poor cat. Sure, he scratched me a little when I made a grab for him, but I ignored the pain and pressed on until we were both back on solid ground."

Mike then cockily places his hands upon his hips as he recalls the glorious rescue, assuming the stance that Superman usually strikes right after he saves Lois Lane from some supervillain.

"Wow. That's just...wow," I awkwardly compliment while I shuffle my feet around.

"I thought you'd like that story, but that's not all," he proudly grins. "The Mayor was so grateful for my service that he even gave me a key."

I can't hide my surprise. My eyebrows shoot up until they almost hit my scalp. "He gave you a key to the _city_?" I incredulously ask.

Mike laughs a little and shakes his head. "Naw. It was better than _that_! The key was to his house. I'm in charge of feeding Mister Prissypants whenever the Mayor and his wife are out of town." For a few moments, his attention drifts off into outerspace, probably reliving harrowing exploits of cleaning out cat litter boxes and gathering up coughed up hairballs from Mayor Woodson's couch.

I take a huge step backwards, preparing to distance myself from Mike until I can find an explanation for his bizarre behavior. "That's just great, Mike. But just look at the time! I need to go change now," I quickly rush out before I escape into the girl's locker room to get into into my P.E. clothes.

A few minutes later, I'm back out on the gym floor and Coach Clapp orders us to find a partner for badminton. And, as usual, Mike quickly offers to be my teammate. Normally I don't mind having him as a partner. He's good at most of the stupid sporting games that Coach Clapp forces us to play- unlike me. No matter what the game, I'm terrible at it. Sometimes I wonder if Mike would be better off partnered up with a corpse. At least a corpse wouldn't accidentally injure herself, her partner, the opposing team, and innocent bystanders.

Today, however, having him three feet away for a whole round of badminton is making me tense. During the game, while I'm busy trying not to trip or hit anyone with my racquet, I keep catching him staring at me instead of concentrating on the game. And whenever he sees that I've caught him, an odd, absent-minded smile stretches across his face. During brief pauses in the game, he manages to whisper more stories of his ordinary accomplishments to me while we wait. It's not until we're resting on the bleachers that I begin to understand what's going on.

"I think I should start waiting for you in the mornings," he tells me while we watch the other students play.

Whipping my head around to face him, I cautiously study him before I respond. He's sitting there tapping his foot against the seat in front of him, not quite looking me in the eye. "Why?" I ask.

"Because it's dangerous for a girl to be alone so early in the morning," he responds.

I snort out a scoffing laugh. "What do you mean by that, Mike? Do you think that the Forks school parking lot is rife with murders and thieves?" Forks doesn't have criminals. It only has parking violators. That's probably why Charlie hasn't needed to pull out his service revolver in almost five years.

"No, but I think that it wouldn't hurt for you to be safer. Take this morning, for example. You were almost hit while getting out of your truck." A strange, bitter look flashes across his face while his icy blue eyes appear to erupt in flames. "If I had been there, I could have gotten you safely to class long before that _van_ came along," he darkly mutters.

"That's ridiculous," I say as I roll my eyes. "There's no way you could have predicted what happened. Besides, if I had been five minutes late, I could avoided the entire accident myself. Anyway, I came out all right in the end, didn't I? Edward helped me out, so don't worry about it."

Mike's face deepens into a scornful glower the moment after I say Edward's name, but his voice remains composed. "But wouldn't you have felt better knowing that I was right beside you this morning? That _I_ was the one there to...you know, get you out of danger."

"That's really not necessary," I firmly remark as I tilt my head at him. "How often do you think random motor vehicles will try to target me, Mike? Today was just a freak accident. It's not like this happens to me all of the time."

He edgily shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I just think that you would be more comfortable if you let me help you out more often."

Without really thinking, my palm lands on his hand and I try to explain to him that I'm capable of taking care of myself. "It's sweet that you care about my safety and all, but I promise you that I don't need a babysitter. I'm perfectly fine on my own," I say with a wan smile.

Before I spoke, Mike had looked down in the dumps. Now, however, his eyes are shining and that weird smile is creeping back on his face.

"You think I'm _sweet_?" he buoyantly asks while gazing, dreamy-eyed, back at me.

As I sit and watch his unexpected change in mood, it suddenly dawns on me that Mike's strange behavior has a rational explanation after all.

His sudden need to relate all of his "heroic" good deeds to me the very same day that Edward Masen happens to carry me away from danger...

The strange, uncomfortable way Mike has been staring at me today...

His insistence that he should hang around me more often to "help" me...

The way he instantly cheered up when I said that he was sweet...

_Uh oh._

I don't have much experience in dealing with boys that like me as more than a friend. Back in Phoenix, I was always the acquaintance of the beautiful girl that the guys were chasing after. My role usually involved giving sage advice to clueless boys to help them attain the girl of their dreams. I had no problem not being the object of their desire. Once you read a few classic English romantic novels that feature mature, handsome men that would gladly do anything to please their ladyloves, the idea of dating a mere teenage boy that thinks burping the alphabet backwards is a fantastic way to impress the ladies makes you a little hesitant to go down that rocky road.

So having Mike showing signs of a crush towards me is a little worrisome. I like him. He's a good guy. But he's a friend. Nothing more. And I'm not sure how to relay that fact to him without hurting his feelings.

I anxiously start chewing my bottom lip as he waits for me to answer him. I wonder if bolting from my seat and shimmying out of the girl's locker room window would give him a clue about how I feel about him?

But of course I don't do anything like that. He deserves to be treated with respect. Besides, I'm not coordinated enough to pull something like that off anyway without breaking one of my bones.

"Sure," I falteringly tell him. "You're a _good friend_." I really hope that he hears that "_friend_" word and memorizes it.

However, my subtle hint seems to bypass his brain completely. A big goofy grin is on his face now. It's as if he interpreted what I said and changed it to mean something else entirely. Like, "I keep a picture of you inside my locker and drool over it between classes."

I have a sinking feeling that letting Mike down gently will be one of the hardest things I ever do.

**00000000000000000000**

After Jessica drops me off at home when school lets out, I carefully scoot across the yard and peek at my truck as I walk to the front door. Charlie had it towed home earlier so he can work on the broken taillight after his shift ends. Sure he could have driven it home, but he reminded me that not having fully functional lights on a vehicle is against the law. And having the town's police chief break the law would probably result in a front page exposé in the _Forks Gazette_. I believe him. Forks is the only town on Earth that would even notice something so minor. They would probably devote an editorial piece if he were to accidentally wear mismatched socks under his slacks.

I pluck the key that's hidden in the eaves, throw the front door open, and toss my coat on the hook on the wall. There are a few homework assignments for me to get through before I do anything more traumatic today. I know that my trig homework always gives me the most difficulty, so I want to finish that headache before dealing with a much larger problem.

Thirty minutes later, I'm standing in the kitchen staring forlornly at the phone in my hand. The cheery yellow cabinets and flowery curtains above the sink are not helping my sour mood. Charlie doesn't usually give me direct orders. He's pretty laid back for a father that's in law enforcement. But he made an exception for today. He thinks that my mom needs to know about the accident that occurred a few hours earlier. My assertion that she doesn't need to know about it since I wasn't injured was immediately rejected.

Mom and Charlie divorced around fifteen years ago after being married for a very short time. But even Charlie knows how the woman will react when I give her the news. It will be full-on panic mode. That's probably why he wants me to do it. He's never been able to handle her anxiety attacks. I, on the other hand, could probably carve out a career in explaining how to handle someone like her. I could even publish an instructional booklet. I would call it something like "How To Calm A Frantic Mother In Twelve Steps Or Less".

I breathe in deeply a few times to steady my nerves, and then dial the number with the Florida area code. It rings three times before someone answers.

"_Hello_," chimes a voice on the other line.

I smile despite the gnawing sensation in my stomach. Mom's voice never fails to cheer me up. She's always so happy and joyful. Her perpetually effervescent mood rubs off on nearly everyone she meets.

"Hi, Mom," I say.

_"Oh, baby! I'm so glad you called! You'll never guess what I saw last night before Phil and I went to bed_," she breathlessly exclaims.

Hearing the words "_Phil_" and "_bed_" make me wary. I like my stepfather just fine, but not enough to listen to Mom describing any bedroom adventures. I hoped that she would understand that. There's just some things that Mothers and Daughters should _never_ share.

Before I can remind her of my "don't ask, don't tell" policy regarding her love life, she explains herself. _"I was moving the pillows off of the bed and piling them up on the floor, because you know how much I dislike having more than a couple of pillows when you're trying to sleep. They always get in your way when you try to turn over, and they usually make my neck hurt if I have a stack of pillows underneath my head. And, they're so lumpy here. I really don't understand why this place insists on having plain feather pillows when goose down are more comfortable. Did you know that this hotel even charges extra for a little sewing kit? One of the buttons on my favorite dress popped off right before I was leaving the room, so I called down to the front desk and was told that the kit was three dollars. Can you believe it?"_

Mom suddenly stops talking. A few seconds of silence go by. The only way I know that she's still there is because I can hear her breathing into the telephone.

_"Honey? What was I talking about?_" she confusedly questions.

It's normal for Mom to become distracted when she's telling a story. Having so many thoughts fly through your brain at the same time must be tough.

"You saw something last night when you were about to go to sleep," I patiently remind her.

_"Oh! That's right. Thank you, baby. Well, I was moving the extra pillows when I noticed something dark on the bed. At first I thought it was one of Phil's wristwatches that sometimes comes apart, so I crawled on the bed to get a closer look. And that's when it moved!"_ she screeches into the phone. _"Oh, it was terrible, Bella! I practically jumped off that bed to get away from that thing. But then it started to fly around the room! It just flapped around our bedroom like it thought it owned the place. It was one of those... Oh, no... I forgot what they're called. You know, don't you, baby? Those things that fly?"_

"A bird?"

"_No. It was a bug. They're brown and disgusting. And they have those long antenna things?"_

Her description could represent around a million different insect species, but I quickly realize what she probably is referring to. "A cockroach?"

_"Yes!_" she shrieks. _"That's it! And it was gigantic! I swear, it looked more like a bat than just a bug, Bella. It was horrible. So I called the front desk to notify them that they had a humongous animal flying around because I assumed that they would send someone to capture it or something. Well... Do you know what they told me? They said that it was normal for this area to have an occasional insect get into a building, so I should just hit it with a newspaper and flush it down the toilet! And this is a **nice** hotel, too!_" Mom sounds truly outraged. I'm not really surprised. I was usually the one that took care of any spiders or other creepy crawlies that got into the house. She definitely isn't equipped to handle a cockroach all on her own.

"Did you get Phil to get rid of it?" I ask her.

_"Yes, but not until later. He was doing his usual nighttime workout routine down at the hotel's gym. I had to hide in the bathroom until he came back."_

"Sorry, Mom," I sigh.

_"It really wasn't so bad in the bathroom, though. I soaked in the bathtub for awhile until Phil killed it for me_," she replies in a lighter mood. "_So... How are things with you, baby? Anything new to tell me?"_

My fingers nervously twirl a strand of hair as I prepare to tell her about my day. "Oh... Nothing much. We're learning about plant reproduction and mitosis in biology. We had sloppy joes for lunch yesterday. My truck was damaged a tiny bit during an accident in the parking lot. And I've made a few friends at school, too. There's Jessica, and Angela, and-"

"**_Isabella Marie Swan_**," my mom emphasizes, utilizing my full name to reenforce her parental authority. "_What did you say about an accident?"_

I had been hoping if I buried it among my other news that she wouldn't notice. Normally she would be too distracted by the news that I had already become friendly with a few people to concentrate on anything else. Obviously, she was sharper than usual today.

With a sigh, I give Mom an edited version of the morning's events, reminding her every five seconds or so that I was indeed alive and well. Regardless of my insistence, she does exactly what I didn't want her to do. And that's panic.

"_I'm coming there tonight!"_ she declares in between her gasping breaths.

"No, you are not," I calmly tell her. "I'm fine. I'm not hurt at all. Besides, the airports up here are basically shut down. There's ice everywhere."

_"Then you're moving back to Phoenix as soon as the ice melts. I'll be waiting for you at the house, and I'll tell Phil that I'll visit him on the weekends_," she decides without thinking of the consequences.

Strangely, she's making it sound as though Phil and I are sharing custody of her and fighting over visitation rights. But I already know that Mom doesn't belong with me anymore. Her life is with her husband. As tempting as it may sound to be in the Valley Of The Sun once again, I can't forget why I moved in with Charlie in the first place. And that's to give Mom her life back.

"Mom," I moan. "You can't. Aren't they having that banquet for baseball players' wives Friday morning? And Phil needs your support during practice. Even more so the closer baseball season starts back up. You have to stay with him."

_"But baby! You could have been killed! If you had been standing just a few feet away or if that van had come in at a different angle, you would have been hit!_" she panics. I can hear her faintly sniffing, her tears obvious to me even though we are separated by thousands of miles.

"But none of that happened. Edward and I had enough time to get out of the way before the van hit, so there's really no reason for you to worry. Accidents happen sometimes. And yes I'm lucky that I didn't get hurt. But, please remember that accidents aren't limited to just Forks, Mom. I could have just as easily been hit by a car in Phoenix. So try to calm down and relax. I'm safe and sound at Charlie's house now."

I hear one more sniff from her, then only deafening silence for about ten seconds. I suddenly become nervous as to why she is no longer talking. Mom's hysteric episodes usually last for around fifteen minutes. More if it is a particularly traumatic event like her daughter possibly almost dying. So, the fact that she has gone abruptly quiet and not bawling makes make wonder if she passed out from shock.

"_Edward?"_ she eventually repeats. "_Who's that?"_

My jaw drops down nearly to my chest. I hadn't planned on mentioning any details of the accident. I had only wanted Mom to know that a van had hit my truck right after I got to school. Having Edward involved in my narrative would only make the story sound more complicated. And complicated things usually only serve to confuse Mom. I purposely left out the whole "Edward whisked me away from danger" in order to save both time and frustration.

And maybe also because I didn't want Mom to get the wrong idea...

"Umm... He's just a boy that I know," I reluctantly explain.

_"A boy? Like a teenage boy?"_ she presses, sounding oddly excited.

Mom instantly becomes interested in any conversation if I say one of three things: _Marriage_, _Pregnancy_, and _Boy_. Saying _Marriage_ and _Pregnancy _will result in an hour's long serious discussion on how you should wait until you are in your thirties before even thinking about getting married or having children. Having married right out of high school herself and immediately having a baby, she wants me to avoid all of the hardships that she and Charlie went through. She's a firm believer in having a career before a family. She eventually became an elementary school teacher, a career that she is proud of. It's on hold right now, of course, while she travels with Phil. But I know that she will never give up her job entirely. I'm certain that she'll resume teaching again once Phil finds a permanent position on a team.

The word _Boy, _however, will trigger an opposite reaction within Mom. She becomes excitable and bubbly as she waits for me to explain why I would say such a word. Although she is vocally against young marriage, she is an ardent supporter of dating and "playing the field". And since I've never so much as hinted of any interest in either one, she sometimes wonders aloud if I am planning on entering a convent after graduation.

"Yes. A _teenage boy_," I admit.

A piercing shriek cuts through the phone as I hold it away from my ear. I was abysmally stupid for letting it slip that a boy had been involved today, but at least I was prepared for her reaction this time.

_"Ooooh! I just knew that you weren't telling me everything in those emails! Now, who is this boy and tell me what he looks like_," she giddily orders.

My eyes wearily snap shut as I groan. Only she would suddenly ignore the dangerous aspects of the accident just because a boy was somehow involved...

"Mom. You are making a bigger deal out of this than it really is. He just happened to be standing near me when the van came by, and then he pulled me out of the way. That's it. End of story."

"_Really? Well that's even better!"_ she cheerily insists. "_He was keeping his eye on you. That's so cute! Have you gone out with him yet?"_

"No. That's... not how it is at all," I stammer.

But Mom is in her own little world now. A world where she believes that her daughter has finally decided to follow in her footsteps when it comes to the dating world.

"_Oh... I see. You don't want to limit yourself to just one guy right now. Well, I agree, baby. You're so young. You go and experience as much as you can while you're in high school. So, is there anyone else you're interested in? Do you date one at a time or is it more casual than that? Like, one boy at lunch and another for dinner?"_

My face blushed a fire red at her insinuation. I was about to explain to her that her daughter has no one in her life right now, let alone a whole horde of boys fighting for her attention. But I was saved from that headache by Charlie walking through the door.

"Oh, Mom! Dad's home now, so I need to get off and start thinking about dinner. I'll have to talk to you again later," I rapidly tell her before we hang up.

I slump down into my seat for minute or two, feeling the weight if the world on me. Talking to Mom sometimes feels more exhausting than an hour of gym class.

**00000000000000000000**

Charlie repaired the truck's broken rear light before nightfall, and together we drive over to the Forks Diner to eat instead of having a home cooked meal. I don't mind cooking. Actually, I can truthfully admit that I enjoy it. But after the day I've had, it's nice to let someone else do all of the work. And the thought of letting Charlie make a meal is terrifying. The only foods he can cook are bacon, scrambled eggs, and anything that comes from the TV dinner section at the Thriftway down the road. So, eating out is really the only other option we have.

I vaguely remember the diner from my childhood, but it's been a long time since I stepped foot inside of the place. As we pull into a parking spot, I notice that it's smaller than I remembered. The outside of the building needs a new coat of paint, too. And it probably wouldn't hurt if they replaced the flickering bulb of their sign.

The inside of the diner doesn't give me any confidence in their ability to prepare a meal. The floors are scuffed up, as if no one has bothered to give the place a good scrubbing since they had the grand opening back in the sixties. The stools at the counter are worn and stained with decades worth of patrons' food spillages. I direct Charlie to a booth in the back that seems to be the most sanitary- its seats aren't ripped and there's no chewing gum stuck in the ash tray.

I spy a little on the other customers as we wait for someone to come and give us the menu. Everyone is choking down their food as if they haven't eaten anything for days. Squinting my eyes, I see lots of red meat under oceans of brown gravy. Vegetables here appear to be either deep fried or absent altogether. This does not bode well for my stomach.

A waitress strolls up, keeping me from doing any further surveillance. Her face has a scattering of wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, hinting at her advanced age despite the low cut shirt she's wearing under the apron. But it's her hairstyle that is the most noticeable. It's a cross between a mullet and a beehive. I've never seen anything quite like it before. It's almost as though she's been trapped in about 1985 and hasn't been notified that people no longer wear acid washed jeans or sweatbands around our foreheads.

"Hi ya, Charlie!" she grins at him before turning her attention to me. "I'm gonna guess that this here's that daughter you always talk about."

He nods. "Yes, it is."

I politely smile back. "Bella."

"Well, it's nice to meet ya, Bella," she says. "I hear that you live here now. Is that true?"

"Yes. I've been living with Dad for a week now."

"Isn't that nice?" she remarks with her hand over her heart. "Around here we always appreciate new folks that move to town. So, how do you like it so far?"

Nice but nameless waitress lady is staring at me expectantly, like she's thinking there's no way that anybody could ever hate this place. But I do. I really, really do.

However, I hate to make anyone feel bad. Especially since the man that works for this town is sitting right across from me.

"It's like a dream come true," I faintly smile back. I neglect to inform her that the dream was actually a vivid nightmare. But at least I told her the truth.

Nameless waitress lady beams back at me, probably thrilled to believe that anyone besides her could like this place. "Well, welcome to Forks, hon. I betcha we'll see each other all the time now. Your dad comes in here to eat at least twice a week."

She hands us each a menu and I flip it open. After having examined the disgustingly unhealthy food choices the other customers were happily scarfing down, I had hoped to find something a little more appetizing on the menu. But the choices are few and far between. Everything is either fried, wrapped in multiple strips of meat, or had the phrase "cheese curd" somewhere in the description that I was unwilling to experiment with.

Charlie tells her that he wants The Special without even looking at his menu, which must be his usual choice for his dinner. Nameless waitress lady starts to impatiently tap her foot as she watches me scan through the menu. I soon realize after my third perusal that I need help. I snap the menu shut. "Do you serve a salad or anything like that?"

She proudly grins. "Sure we do, sweetie. We can swap out the side of French fries from the Olympic Burger and let you have our side salad instead." Since this is the closest to a decent meal they have, I hand her my menu and agree to her suggestion.

While we wait, Charlie starts asking about how my day went. At first, I arch my brow at him disbelievingly. He knows how my day started out. He chuckles a little and admits that his question should have been worded differently.

Remembering that I never had any updates about the accident or how Edward was doing, I decide to ask Charlie since he probably was kept up to date with what went on.

"Dad? Did you ever hear anything else about the accident? Like, umm, if everyone is OK or not?"

He nods before answering. "From what I gathered, the driver made it out with only a few injuries. I met with the boy and his parents at the hospital. He admits that he was speeding when he pulled into the school parking lot and hit a patch of ice. He's lucky that he was wearing a seatbelt when he crashed because he would have most likely hurt himself more seriously. I'm sure, though, that he'll be well enough to go back to school tomorrow."

Charlie ends his tale without so much as a hint of Edward's fate. My fingernails apprehensively tap upon our table as I try to think of a less direct way of asking about him. I don't want Charlie to think I'm in some teenage romance like Mom assumed earlier. But I soon realize that it's best to just ask Charlie a straightforward question. If you try to sneakily extract information from him, his police instincts kick in and he immediately looks at you as though you are a suspect.

"What about Edward?" I ask.

He locks eyes with me while his mustache starts doing a nervous jig. Then, he leans back in the booth and takes his sweet time in answering.

"I never saw him today," Charlie reveals guardedly. "But I did speak with his father down at the hospital. Doctor Cullen said that his injuries weren't severe. Only a small bump on the back of his head. He wasn't at the hospital long at all."

"Oh... Well, that's good," I say as casually as I can.

He continues to closely observe me, saying nothing yet making me feel a little jittery. It almost feels like I have a spotlight shining on my face while Charlie readies himself to interrogate me.

"So you and this Edward know each other," he says in a strained voice. I can hear it in his tone that he's already assuming too much.

I keep my voice sounding nonchalant. That's my only defense. "Not really. I've only spoken with him a couple of times."

His facial expression remains unconvinced. "Hmph."

I'm saved from further scrutiny by the delivery of our dinner. Nameless waitress lady passes out the plates with a gleaming smile while I try hide the shock at seeing exactly what my father eats on a regular basis.

A steak the size of my head, bacon-wrapped deep fried corn fritters, and macaroni dripping with Velveeta cheese sauce. The one somewhat healthy vegetable on his dinner plate, his baked potato, is loaded down with a stick of butter, bacon bits, more cheese, and a mountain of sour cream. The only healthy item on his plate is the sprig of parsley that adorns it.

To top that off, he snatches the salt shaker and begins dumping it all over his food. I stare back at him in horror. The man isn't even forty yet. He's young and has a long life ahead of him. But I'm not sure how he's still alive if this is how he has been feeding himself for the past fifteen years. His heart probably resembles a lump of lard now.

As for my own food, I crinkle my nose a little while I poke the lettuce of my salad with a fork. It's supposed to be a side salad, and I guess they decided to call it that since you definitely want to put it to the side and ignore its existence completely. The lettuce is wilted and covered in some weird house dressing. I give it a sniff and pick up the scent of mayo and pickles. The tomatoes look OK, they actually seem kind of edible. So I wipe off the dressing eat only them.

My hamburger is disappointing, too. The meat oozes out spoonfuls of grease as I lightly press my finger down on it. I'm afraid to know how much fat is hiding in there. I'm not usually so health conscious. I love eating pizza and fries as much as the next girl, but I just know that if I eat this I will be having my stomach pumped down at the ER tonight.

I pry the hunk of meat from the bun and let it drop to my plate. My dinner consists of some bread, a few globs of cheese that had glued themselves to the bun, five tomato slices, and the croutons from my salad.

I swear to myself that I will never, ever step inside of this place. And I add that Charlie will be on a strict diet from now on. I will be cooking his meals. No more diner food for him.

I have more than a decade's worth of built-up cholesterol and sodium to remove from his system.

**00000000000000000000**

As I lay in bed that night, I found it impossible to sleep. Something kept persistently creeping back into my thoughts- namely my guilty conscience. It slowly dawned upon me that I owed Edward an apology. Plus, a thank you. I wasn't exactly as appreciative of what he did as I should have been yesterday. Regardless if that van was a danger to myself or not, I should have shown him at least a little gratitude for watching out for me.

Now that it's morning, I'm rushing around in order to get to school earlier than normal. I want to catch Edward before classes begin. If I hurt his feelings, I would rather fix it as soon as possible instead of waiting until I'm seated next to him in Biology. Having an entire classroom full of nosey students listening in to our conversation would not be an ideal place to apologize.

After a quick breakfast of toast and juice, I crank up the truck and slam down on the accelerator. I don't have to worry about speeding. This truck couldn't outrun a Vespa. If the speedometer creeps above forty-five, the truck will cough like an asthmatic, so I keep it at a reasonable speed most of time.

As I drive, I'm happy to see that all of the ice from yesterday has melted away. The temperature is above freezing, too. Of course, the sun is still hidden behind a curtain of gray clouds, but at least it's better than it was yesterday morning.

I'm among the very first of the students at school when I pull into the parking lot. Scanning my surroundings, I see that Edward's distinctive shiny, silver car is absent. I hop out of the truck and walk towards the main entrance of the school grounds. Taking a position just past the front office, I patiently wait for him to arrive.

As time goes by, the sidewalks begin to fill with students as they head to class. A few try to stop to chitchat, but I make up the excuse that I'm waiting to talk to the Principal and they hastily zip away.

After around ten minutes of waiting, I see Edward and I am taken aback by what I see. His hair is in complete disarray, not that perfectly orchestrated chaotic hairstyle he usually has. There are dark circles under his eyes, too. Dispiritedly, he lumbers down the sidewalk, looking so out of it that he doesn't appear to notice me until only a few feet separate us.

To keep him from passing by, I step in front of him and take a deep breath before I say anything. "Hey," I call out. "Umm... Can I talk to you?"

His eyes zero in on mine and we silently regard one another for a brief time. A strange look flashes across his features right before he breaks our gaze. I see his lean body shift to his right, as though he is preparing to leave.

"I need to get to class," he softly utters while avoiding looking my way.

I pivot my own body slightly in order to keep him from easily escaping before I can apologize. Edward's eyes reluctantly flick back and land on me, appearing uncertain and wary.

"It will just take a minute. It's about yesterday," I explain. "I had time to think about it later and I realized that I may have brushed it off without much thought." Feeling my stomach nervously quivering, I gulp down a breath of cool air before I go on. "I mean... I rethought what you said after the accident. You were right to do what you did. I got it into my head that I would have been fine where I was, but I was wrong. I want to apologize."

His eyes linger on my face for a few beats after I finish speaking. "It was nothing," he says in a quiet yet firm voice.

My guilt mounts up by the second. Jessica was right. I really made this boy believe that he overreacted.

I am a terrible, terrible person...

My head begins to shake back and forth. "No, I disagree. You tried to help me and I downplayed it. So, I just wanted to say..." I give him a legitimate smile. "Thank you."

I stand and wait for his response. I had assumed that since he had always seemed to be a nice guy, that he would smile back and say that I was forgiven. Or maybe he would tease me by saying that it was all in a good day's work - something like Spider-Man might say.

But instead his face stays seemingly indifferent. "You don't need to thank me. Anyone would have done the same." His tone is colder than this winter's morning air.

I stand here stunned, barely able to blink as I analyze the changes in him. The kind, sympathetic boy from the day before is nowhere to be found in this aloof person in front of me.

"I need to go," he adds abruptly.

Edward swiftly passes around me without another word. Without being able to help it, I turn around and watch as he walks away. Seconds later, he disappears from my sight completely. My feet are locked in place, unable to believe what just happened.

At least I learned a valuable lesson today.

Edward Masen doesn't accept apologies. At least, not from me, he doesn't.

He obviously does not care for my company anymore. And it would be best if I avoid him at all costs from now on.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Gasp! **

**Next Chapter\- Bella meets a new face at school - much to her frustration. More inept flirting by Mike. And another apology, but not from Bella.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	5. All Apologies

**Chapter 5- All Apologies**

**January 26, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

After Edward gave me the cold shoulder, I try to shrug off his indifference as I wander to first period English. It's easily my favorite class even though I've read every book on our reading list. Here I can allow my mind to lose itself in the immortal words of some of the world's greatest writers and put aside all of my problems for a little while.

I'm sure at some point later on today I will be back to analyzing my run-in with Edward. At first I'll blame him for being a callous snob that believes that he is too good for interacting with someone as lowly as me. But then I'll remind myself that he has not always been like that. Before I basically told him that he overreacted yesterday in the parking lot, he appeared perfectly polite and kind. This will be right around the time when my guilty conscience will kick in. Then, I will be forced to eat my way through a carton of Chunky Monkey ice cream up in my room.

However, I'm saving that fun little emotional rollercoaster ride for after school when I'm alone at the house. I'm aware of the fact that wallowing in guilt and shame isn't a healthy activity for someone struggling with a mild case of depression, but at least it will give me something to do other than being homesick. I bet Dr. Freud couldn't argue with that logic.

I'm only a few steps away from my English class when I hear a loud, unfamiliar voice shouting from somewhere behind me. By reflex, I swivel my body around and see a dusty blonde-haired boy waving his arms around to catch someone's attention. The boy's hair is in that long, shaggy style often favored by skateboard enthusiasts who say "Dude" and "Bro" every other sentence. I suspect that if it wasn't currently 38 degrees outside that he would be wearing flip-flops and cargo shorts.

"There you are!" he excitedly cries out as he dodges the other students on the sidewalk.

I scan my immediate surroundings, expecting to find someone clearly waiting to speak with this boy. Since I know that I've never seen him before, I think that there's no way he would be talking to me...

Seconds later, the boy steps right up to me and aims an enthusiastic grin my way. Now that he's closer, I notice that there's a bandaid taped right above his left eyebrow, plus a few scratches down his cheek and neck.

"You sure are a hard girl to find, Bella," he good-naturedly points out. "I've been looking for you all morning!"

I'm not a good liar. Usually, all you need to do is monitor my facial expressions and you'll know right away what I'm thinking. Mom did always say that my face is like an open book. So, while this complete stranger speaks to me as if he knows me, I'm sure I have a "_who in the hell are you?_" expression written all over my face.

Yet, this boy doesn't appear to pick up on my confusion. Without giving me the opportunity to ask him anything, he takes a gulp of air and crams a whole dialogue's worth of words into one exhaled breath. "I just can't believe it. It was like, _Vroom_! _Screech_! _Kaboom_! _Eek_! And I was like, _Whoa...that was intense!_ Dad said that I was grounded for a week, which majorly sucks. Mom thinks that I should offer to pay for what I messed up, and I agree with her. But Uncle Bill's a lawyer and he told me not to offer to do that 'cause that would be like opening the floodgates to future lawsuits. But I don't care. It was my fault and I gotta face up to it. You gotta know that I didn't mean it. I'm really, really sorry. Forgive me?"

I'm almost used to how some of the kids around here speak at supersonic speeds. Heck, Jessica could probably set a new Guinness World Record if the company sent someone to monitor her for the day. However, when you throw in a stranger that's babbling nonsensically at me, it makes understanding what's going on a bit more challenging.

"Oh, well... Thanks for the apology," I haltingly begin, twisting my mouth as I speak. "That's very nice of you. But...umm, _who are you exactly_?"

His smile widens and he yelps out the sort of laugh that would give Woody the Woodpecker a migraine. "I'm Tyler Crowley," he announces. His name doesn't ring any bells inside of my head until he adds, "I hit your truck yesterday."

Suddenly, his rambling makes a little more sense. My mouth morphs into a large O shape as everything comes together. "Oh," I softly mumble. "I think I saw you being loaded onto the ambulance yesterday. Are you OK?"

"I am now. I had a few cuts and bruises that banged me up, but nothing too bad," he admits as he casually tosses a clump of hair out of his eyes. "My van's totalled, though."

"Sorry to hear that," I say with a wince.

"Yeah, it sure does suck," he agrees without sounding all that troubled. "But I'll get something new once the insurance company is done with the investigation. Then all I'll need to do is wait til Dad says I'm not grounded anymore, and I can get a new car."

"Well, at least you have something to look forward to once your sentence is over with," I add dryly.

Tyler laughs much louder than what my lame attempt at humor warrants. "You're right about that," he chuckles. "And speaking of cars and all- how badly did I damage your truck? I know my van smacked right into it."

I wave off his concern. "That truck is nearly indestructible. The only damage it had was a broken taillight and a few tiny scrapes. It's nothing."

For some reason, when I reveal the truck's damage, Tyler's lips curl into a huge, excited grin. "OK, so here's what we'll do... I'll get my brother to drop me off at your house this afternoon to fix the light. Then, tomorrow I'll stop by the auto supply store, buy some paint to match the truck, and get rid of all those scratches. But, if I can't find a color to match, I'll need to-"

"Hold on, Tyler," I interrupt with a raised hand. "There's no need for any of that. My Dad already fixed the taillight."

Tyler's smiling face droops down into a slight frown. "Your dad already fixed it?" he asks.

"Yeah. Last night."

At this revelation, he stands silent with a pensive, contemplative expression overtaking his face. It takes him several seconds before he speaks again. "But the scratches are still there, right?"

"Yes," I cautiously drag out. "But that doesn't really matter. A few more scratches on the bumper doesn't hurt that truck one bit. I think it gives it character. Don't worry about it."

"But I promised to make it up to you, Bella," he explains with a growing grin. "I damaged your truck and almost hit you, too. You gotta let me do something for you."

I draw in a calming breath before I respond. I don't like anyone feeling as though they are in my debt. "No. Really, it's fine. You don't owe me anything. We can just pretend that none of that happened yesterday if that makes you feel better. OK?"

"Your truck may not need to be repaired, but I still need to make it up to you!" he exclaims. "I'll tell ya what we're gonna do. I'll come up with a few ideas and bounce them off ya later today. That sound good?"

Strenuously, I shake my head back and forth, trying to control my rising frustration. "No, that's not necessary. You don't-"

"I've got study hall for second period, so I'll have loads of time to figure something out!" he interrupts, ignoring me completely. He throws out one last smile before he waves goodbye. "I guess I'll catch ya later!" he says as he turns to saunter away.

"But, Tyler!" I hiss, trying to stop him from expending any energy worrying about me.

He promptly pauses twenty feet away, as if he finally heard me. Whipping around, he adds musingly, "Ya know, I really don't know you all that well... I think that maybe you should come up with an idea or two yourself. Think of something for me to do, and I'll do it! And don't be shy!"

"I don't need to think of _anything_ for you to do because you don't-" I say through gritted teeth.

"Write them down and bring it to me later! We can compare notes!" he chimes in without a care in the world.

And, with that, he continues on his way to the math building, leaving me frustrated and annoyed on the sidewalk.

Rolling my eyes with a huff, I retreat inside to the sanctuary of my English class, ready to sit back and find comfort within whatever story the teacher has assigned for classroom study for today. I take a seat at my usual desk, drop my books down in front of me, and take a moment to shut my eyes and breathe in deeply before class begins. At least in this room there's no cold, indifferent boy to rudely shut me out after he went through the hassle of helping me yesterday. Nor is there a plainly idiotic, oblivious boy that doesn't understand that I do not need any compensation for a few scratches on a vehicle that already has dozens of imperfections.

Here, in this classroom, I can finally escape the headaches of my life and just relax...

"Psst! Hey, Bella?" whispers Mike's voice from the chair next to mine. "You seemed to like my stories so much yesterday that I remembered another one. It's about the time my mom forgot about the bread in the toaster and the house's smoke alarm went off. Everyone in my family thought that the house was about to burn down! I was the only one to realize what was going on! Rushing through the thick plumes of smoke, I made it to the kitchen, unplugged the toaster from the wall, and chucked it outside until our house was clear again. Because of me, we didn't even need to call the fire department."

I slump into my seat and bestow Mike a pitifully weak smile. That's the most I can give him after the morning I've had. "That's...unbelievable."

A satisfied smirk appears on his face, apparently interpreting my unenthusiastic response as encouragement. "And guess what?" he eagerly adds. "I've got even more stories for you to hear later on at lunch today! Isn't that awesome?"

This is when I figure out that relaxation and Forks will never mix. In Forks you are either extremely bored or extremely miserable. And today, it seems, miserable is being served.

"_Fantastic_," I mutter under my breath.

**00000000000000000000**

When lunchtime rolls around, I seat myself beside Jessica and try extra hard to include Angela in our conversation. I soon learn that Angela is one of the most refreshingly considerate people I have ever met. She actually listens and pays attention when someone is speaking, doesn't mindlessly chatter just so she can hear her own voice, and doesn't spit when she talks. Heck, I would have enjoyed talking to her even if she did have a problem with excess saliva. Genuinely nice people are too hard to come by.

Several minutes into the lunch hour, while Jessica is filling our table in on some juicy morsel of gossip that means absolutely nothing to me, Edward strolls into the cafeteria with his sister, Alice. Without drawing attention to myself, I watch him, noting that there's a distinct frown etched onto his face as they wait in line for their food. He definitely doesn't seem any more congenial than he was this morning. Seeing him still in a disagreeable mood, I can't imagine how much worse it will be once we're in Biology together. Will he glare at me during class just because he is stuck sitting next to me? Will he openly roll his eyes and tsk at everything I do since I irritate him now? Or will he purposely ignore me, pretending as though I never existed?

This thought only serves to increase my determination to stop worrying about his mood swings. If that's how he wants to be around me, then fine. I can do the same. He'll soon see that I can ignore him just as thoroughly as he can ignore me if that's what he wants. I don't care if he will be sitting only a foot away from me in less than one hour's time. In my mind, he will be miles away.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. It remains to be seen how I will really behave.

While I am preoccupying myself with my inner thoughts, I hear a chair scrape against the linoleum and Mike plops down onto the seat next to mine. Before I can even say a "hello", he's already off to the races, eager to describe perilous hikes through light foggy mists and recalling a risky incident where he was forced to consume an unheated tin can of pinto beans after a drizzling rain prevented a camp fire from being constructed.

As soon as he has exhausted his supply of adventurous topics, he broaches a new subject that I have mixed feelings about. Namely, his belief that I should take advantage of the various outdoor activities Forks has to offer.

"So if you go fishing, I would suggest starting out at a pond or lake before tackling streams or the ocean," recommends Mike in between bites of his sandwich. "And if you find a lake that's stocked regularly, you're practically guaranteed to catch something worth keeping."

"Well," I begin hesitantly. "I've went a few times with Charlie when I was a kid, but it's not my thing. He's the fisherman in the family - not me."

"You just haven't used the right equipment," he insists with unwavering confidence. "I've got just the right fishing pole in our garage that would be perfect for you. It's pink!"

Without being able to control myself, my entire body cringes. I'm one of those people that can't stand when companies color their product a Pepto Bismol pink to make it appear more feminine. Do they really believe that some delicate female will suddenly want to purchase a flame thrower just because it's hot pink and features pretty flowers on the stock?

But no matter what it looks like, I do not want or need a fishing pole. Fishing is dull. You sit around for hours, hoping for something to bite your stupid lure, yet rarely does that ever happen. Oftentimes, whenever I thought I had something on my fishing line, Charlie would discover that it was only a tree branch that was caught on my hook. Sometimes it was garbage, like a rotting shoe. Meanwhile, he was like a machine, catching fish after fish out of the water as though it was the simplest thing in the world to do. All I ever got after putting in all those hours was a nasty sunburn and a sore butt from sitting in a plastic boat seat all day.

Additionally, my lack of balance always seemed to come into play during our fishing trips. It was a rare day when I didn't accidentally fall into whatever body of water we were fishing from, soaked to the bone and subjected to the humiliation of overhearing the amused chuckles and snickers of neighboring fishermen as I trudged back to shore.

Because of these things, I have no lingering desire to touch any piece of fishing equipment ever again.

"No thanks," I tell Mike with a slight grimace. "I don't like fishing. I prefer the comforts of civilization as opposed to fraternizing with Mother Nature." It's safer for the both of us if we live separate lives. I hurt myself whenever I venture farther than ten feet into the forest. And, knowing my luck, if I did try to go outdoors, I would accidentally fall and land on some critically endangered animal and forever harm that species' chances of survival. I'm doing my part to preserve the environment by staying as far away from it as possible.

"But your pole even comes with it's own container that can carry all of the crickets and earthworms you could possibly need. And, if you cut the worms in half, you'll get twice the bait!" Mike reveals cheerfully. "As long as you don't squeeze the worms while you're cutting them up, only a little of their guts leak out."

The French fry that I was holding between my fingers suddenly resembles one of those squirming earthworms that he was describing. With rising disgust, I resignedly allow the fry to fall back to my tray.

"I mean it, Mike," I reply while heaving out a sigh. "I don't like to visit my food's habitat before I eat it. I prefer to let my dad do all of the fishing."

He barks out a laugh. "That reminds me of something that happened in the store last spring. A guy comes in right after we opened up shop for the day, asking for directions to that lake out near the sawmill. Mom told the guy-"

"Hey, Bella!" cuts in a voice from across our table. I turn to find an eager-faced Tyler as he drops down onto an empty seat. "I came up with a few ideas this morning just like I promised. How many did you think of?"

Briefly, I shut my eyes and take in a breath of air to combat my frustration.. "Tyler, I said that you don't need to do anything for me," I patiently remind him as I reopen my eyes. "You came out of the accident in worse shape than I did. My truck was barely damaged while your van was destroyed. I'm completely unharmed while you were the one that was injured. You should be more concerned with your own welfare. I am one hundred percent fine. I swear. So, please, don't worry about me anymore. There's nothing that I need. OK?"

"I think you should hear me out before you decide on anything," Tyler insists, much to my annoyance. "I've got some great ideas that I know you'll love once you hear 'em!" He broadly smiles and yanks out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pants pocket.

I open my mouth to reiterate that this is unnecessary, but he begins yapping before I can say even one word. "Keep in mind that these aren't set in stone. If you don't like something, speak up and I'll change whatever you want," he airily says. With his attention shifting to the piece of paper in his hands, he theatrically clears his throat, and he begins to read from his list.

"First idea," he happily recites. "I've noticed that you don't use a backpack. It must be a pain to tote your things all over the campus. So my idea is to carry your books for you. I'll meet you at each of your classes and all you gotta do is hand over your things to me! What do ya think about that?"

From beside me, I hear Mike derisively snort out his disapproval. I glance over at him and see that he's glaring at Tyler as though he can't stand the clueless boy. As for Jessica, her elbows are on the table while she rests her chin in the palm of her hand, happily listening in to the conversation as if it was the most riveting thing that she's witnessed all day.

I shake my head and return my attention back to Tyler. "No, Tyler. You are not doing that," I firmly respond. "I'm capable of carrying my own things."

He shrugs his shoulders, not bothered in the least by my rejection. "OK. I see that you don't like that one. No biggie. I've got more! How about I park your truck in the mornings and retrieve it in the afternoon? That would save you a couple minutes of time every day."

My forehead scrunches together as I try to interpret what he means. "You want to be my valet?" I incredulously ask.

He uncertainly tilts his head to the side and tries to think for a moment before he speaks. "If that's what you want to call it. Well, then, sure!"

I have a strong feeling that having a teenage boy be my personal valet would only attract more attention around here - something I definitely do not need. Besides, having Tyler drive my truck would not sit well with me. I may not know this boy, but I am aware that he just crashed his van yesterday due to speeding. I shuddered at the thought of what chaos he could unleash upon the school if he was behind the wheel of my truck. That thing is almost as impenetrable as a tank.

"No," I flat out respond.

Undaunted by my refusal, he peers down at the paper and scratches his head as he reads. "All right. We'll go to the next one."

"No, Tyler. Just...no!" I snap, my patience now long gone. "I appreciate the effort you put into thinking about this, but I can promise that it's a waste of time. I don't need any help. _At all._"

He presses his lips together and quietly observes me. I stare back at him resolutely, hoping to demonstrate how serious I am about this.

"OK," he gradually drawls, finally sounding like he's giving up. "I get it. You're one of those girls that likes to do stuff on their own. That's cool. So, I think maybe I should do the rougher chores that a girl wouldn't ordinarily do. I'm thinking that I'll stop by and do the yard work around your house on a day when it's not raining. How about that?"

My hands clamp down on my lunch tray, squeezing the hardened plastic to keep myself from leaping across the table and choking him to death. There's so much stupid floating around that brain of his that I'm not sure how he's able to function at all.

"_Goodbye, Tyler_," I grumble as I rise from my seat, grabbing my lunch tray as I leave. Since the lunch hour is almost over, I decide that sitting alone in Biology class for ten minutes sounds a lot nicer than hearing his nonsense for one more second. I back away from the table and speed up my pace to escape Tyler before he tries to tag along.

I'm halfway to the area where we return our lunch trays when I trip over my own feet. My Coke can flies off the tray and drops to the cafeteria floor, creating a loud clanking noise that attracts the attention of several nearby students. Annoyed at myself, I roll my eyes and bend over to pick it back up. Once it's on my tray again, I continue on the garbage cans and dump all of my trash into one of them.

When I swing back around, there's Mike standing right in front of me, uncomfortably close with his mouth set in a smirk. "Tyler getting on your nerves?"

Uneasy by his close proximity, I slip by him and try to create more distance between us before I answer him. "A little," I admit. We begin walking side-by-side towards the cafeteria doors. "Tyler seems to be under the delusion that he owes me for ramming my truck yesterday. I've told him multiple times today to not worry about it, but he won't listen."

Mike chuckles and shakes his head. "Yeah, some people can't take a hint. I was about to tell him to go sit somewhere else."

"He means well," I say in Tyler's defense. "I think..."

Mike snorts a laugh as we enter the classroom. "I didn't think he'd ever shut up! Why hasn't someone told him that it's better to listen for once than run your mouth all day long?"

Arching my brow, I hesitantly look back at Mike, taking my time as I think of a nice way of responding. I pull out my desk chair and take a seat while he stands next to my table. "I think that some people are so desperate for attention that they don't realize that they might be dominating the conversation," I gently explain. "And then, when someone else is speaking, they tune everything out as they try to come up with something else to talk about. They don't realize how much they're missing out on by not just stopping and really paying attention."

Mike suddenly laughs, forcing my brows to knit together. I didn't think what I said was funny at all...

"I just remembered something that happened to me a couple of weeks back!" he chuckles with a wide smile. "You're going to love this!"

Five minutes later, the class begins to fill up with students, yet he continues on with his tale. I have been trying to listen closely, but I still have no idea where he's going with this story. It started out easy to understand - it had something to do with a customer at his family's store. But, Mike got side tracked for a while when he stopped to explain the subtle differences between various brands of hiking boots. I can barely tell the difference between a sandal and a flip-flop, so I feel a little overwhelmed by all of the detail he's putting into this conversation.

Out of my peripheral vision, I spot a head of luminous bronze-hair appear in the doorway. Instantly, I flick my eyes away, unwilling to see what expression may be on his face now. If Edward wants to frown at me for the next hour, that's fine by me. But that doesn't mean that I should be expected to watch his mood swings in real time. I'd rather just speculate than know for sure.

"So I told the guy," a voice drones besides me. Jerking in place by the unexpected sound, I realize that Mike has went on speaking while my mind drifted elsewhere. After a moment of guilt passes, I give my head a quick shake to clear my thoughts and try to refocus back on his story.

"...'you should go with these Pathway Mid Calf Waterproof Hiking Boots instead. Not only are they waterproof, but they are comfortable as a sneaker and look great.' Well, the guy just looks at me like I'm crazy or something. So, I'm like, 'What, dude?' And he's like, '_I'm not shucking out $200 bucks on a pair of shoes that I only need for the weekend_.'"

Mike rolls his eyes at the memory and shakes his head before he goes on. "So, I said, 'Trust me, pal, they're worth every penny. They'll save your feet from blisters and bunions.' Well, get this! He looks at me, straight faced, and says, _'Is there at least a coupon I can use_?'"

Mike slaps his hand down on the table and loudly snorts, eyeing me all the while. "Can you believe it? A _coupon_! What a cheapskate!" he guffaws, practically urging me to burst out laughing right along with him.

I'm not sure what I should do or say. Maybe it was because I wasn't paying as close of attention as I should have, but I didn't hear anything funny enough to laugh at. So, I decide to utilize my go-to strategy whenever I am met with uncertain social situations such as this. I give him a small smile and nod.

While his chuckling tapers off, he wipes away the tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. Mike's eyes dart away from my face for split second before returning with a pleased grin. "Well, I guess I should go sit down now. See ya later, Bella."

_Later_... As in, I will be hearing _more_ stories after biology class. And probably during gym, too...

Without being able to stop myself, I let out a sigh. "Yeah. Later," I tiredly murmur.

Before he walks to his seat across the room, his mouth morphs into that same weird smile he kept giving me yesterday - the one where if he were a cartoon character, he would have little hearts swirling around his head while his tongue hangs out.

Wearily shutting my eyes, I quietly wonder what the proper etiquette is on rejecting someone without having to say the actual words, "_I don't like you as more than a friend._" They should make greeting cards that do it for you. I'm sure they would make a fortune.

I hear an annoying thudding noise coming from my left and my head involuntarily turns in that direction. To my disbelief, I notice Edward silently staring at me while he taps his pencil against our shared tabletop. Once he sees that I'm aware of him, he turns his entire body to look at me more easily. "That was a quite _enthralling_ conversation," he remarks musingly. "Perhaps next time he'll regale you with tales of how the FedEx man came by the store twice last week. Or, if you're very lucky, he'll explain why he was put in charge of the mud boot display as opposed to just the rain jackets."

My eyes squint irritably back at him. Here's the boy that shut me out this morning. The one that couldn't take a few moments of his precious time in order to talk to me like a normal person. And he's criticizing Mike for being dull?

"Don't you think you're being a bit harsh? At least he was attempting to make conversation. As I recall, there are some people that go to this school that feel that speaking to me is too much of a hassle," I say in retort.

Ha... Take that.

I expect Edward to give me the cold shoulder again since I'm speaking up for myself. Or at least frown for having the gall to call him out for his earlier behavior.

But he surprises me when his mouth curls up into a tiny, chastised smile instead - the kind you might give if you've been caught doing something wrong and you know that it's no use trying to deny it.

The cold, indifferent Edward is gone.

It takes him a moment to respond. He drops his pencil on his notebook and clasps his fingers together. "I try to abide by the adage - '_Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt_'," he explains. His eyes appear to dance mischievously for a few beats before he pauses, leans in close, and conspiratorially whispers, "And, well, I suppose we _both_ know which option our dear friend _Mike_ chooses to go with."

I want to smile. But, then again, I don't want to reward Edward for ignoring me one second and cracking jokes the next. Although I'm glad that his mood has evidently swung back to "_nice_" mode, I'm not ready to forget about how he behaved just a few hours ago.

Somehow I manage to keep my mouth in a semi-neutral position. "If that's the philosophy that you live by, then why are you talking to me now? Aren't you '_removing all doubt_' yourself?"

He backs away again and leans casually against his chair. "Oh, well, I can explain that. You see, I was a Boy Scout long ago. We were required to do a good turn daily. I think saving your sanity counts towards that quota. What if a meteor were to fall on us during class? You wouldn't want your last conversation to be about boots and coupons, do you?"

This time, there's no use in stopping the smile that appears. I wouldn't have been able to hide it anyway.

"I guess you do have a point," I agree right as the bell rings. The small smile on his own face transforms into a sparking-eyed grin.

I reluctantly swivel my body to face the front of the room, disappointed that I couldn't question him about his strange, spastic mood swings as I would have liked. Mr. Banner is one of those teachers that demands your attention right away or you risk having additional homework trust at you as punishment for daydreaming and doodling on your notebook paper. So I try to push away my curiosity for now.

But today the teacher is not diving into our biology textbook or showing us slides of cell reproduction as soon as the bell finishes clanging. At the moment, he's wandering the area around his desk, scratching his head as he lifts up papers and digs through drawers.

Everyone else in the room begins quietly chatting with their neighbor or lab partner. I decide that it's now or never. If I want answers, I need to do it now while Mr. Banner is otherwise occupied.

Turning back to face Edward, I catch his attention and he mirrors my position. "Since you can suddenly talk again," I begin in a lowered voice, "I was wondering if I could ask you a quick question?"

He tips his head in acknowledgement, a hint of a smile still on his lips. "Certainly. Go ahead."

"Why were you acting that way this morning? Was it because of how I treated you yesterday?"

His smile disappears completely.

"No. You didn't do anything wrong, Bella," he confesses in a somber tone. "I've been sorting through some-" He stops speaking for a second, as though he's struggling to find the right word. Then, he ends his sentence by saying, "personal problems."

I play what he says through my head a few times, trying to understand how his personal problems could cause him to go from warm and friendly to aloof robot. But nothing that I come up with sounds plausible. I decide to nudge him to give me more information. "_Personal problems_?" I repeat.

Edward nods his head. "Uh hmm." And then he adds nothing more.

Gee, thanks. That explains _everything_...

I was hoping that he would make this easier for me. But I guess I'll need to be more specific in my line of questioning if I want answers.

"What kind, if you don't mind me asking?" I press.

His expression becomes uncertain and he briefly avoids eye contact. When he meets my eyes again, he seems reluctant to speak but does so anyway. "The kind where I was concerned that I would be a bad influence on you."

This leaves me more confused than ever. Edward? A bad influence?

I try to recall everything that I have learned about Edward Masen so far, wondering how on earth he could be considered a bad influence. From what I have seen and heard, he holds doors open for our teachers, is considered worthy enough to have Jessica as his fan club's president, carries clumsy girls away from out of control vans, and possibly has a multiple personality disorder. Other than the last one, he sounds pretty tame to me.

In a way, his excuse sounds like the "_it's not you, it's me_" that you often hear from bad break up stories. When someone says that, it really means, "_I don't like you. So, yeah. This break up is definitely your fault._"

My mouth drops into a frown as realization strikes. "So, what you're saying is, is that you don't want to be friends with me," I muse aloud.

His eyes widen slightly, seemingly alarmed by my conclusion. "No, I'm not saying _that_," he rushes out.

My brow incredulously rises up. I may not be the smartest person alive, but I know when something doesn't sound right.

A corner of his mouth lifts, sheepishly smiling back at me. "OK, I was thinking that before, but it wasn't because of anything you said or did. It's more to do with me. I wasn't sure if it would be prudent to drag you into my problems, so I thought it would be best if we limited our interactions."

_Prudent_...

Who outside of a retirement home says "_prudent_" anymore? Even I would never use that word in my everyday life, and I'm the freak that prefers to read classic literature where the characters say "_forsooth_" and "_anon_" every few sentences.

But I shouldn't be focusing on his advanced vocabulary skills right now. Something he said doesn't make sense at all...

"Really?" I skeptically remark. "And what made you believe that I would be close enough to be dragged into anything with you?" Just because we might talk every now and then at school doesn't mean that we're teaming up to rob banks...

Edward's mouth falls open a little while his eyes take on the panicked look of someone who just found out that their term paper is due today instead of next week as they had previously believed.

"Oh, um... Well. It's was more of a precaution than a belief," he stammers, anxiously running his fingers through his hair.

I study him for a few beats before I begin to nod my head. "I see," I trail off.

If what he's saying is true, he claims that he was trying to push me away in order to protect me from himself. But what could he be protecting me from? Based on what Mike and Alice told me last week, Edward doesn't have much of a social life to speak of outside of school. He keeps mostly to himself. So, I seriously doubt he's involved in anything illegal. Besides, this is Forks. No criminal in their right mind would set up shop here. The most illicit item the residents of Forks purchase are firecrackers that they secretly blow up in their backyards during the Fourth Of July holiday- despite the city ordinance against them.

To me, his explanation for being standoffish this morning sounds a lot like what his sister was trying to tell me. She said that he ostracizes himself- at school and home. And that he needs to interact with people more than he currently does. He probably suffers from some form of depression. After all, he did become an orphan. I'm sure losing your parents would mentally traumatize most people at least a little bit. Maybe he tries to remain distant in order to keep from being hurt again. It would explain a few things. As soon as he feels like he's getting too close to someone, his defenses go up and he tries to back off. Like making excuses that he is a possible threat to my well-being, for example.

That can't be a pleasant way to live your life.

Coming to a decision, I straighten up in my chair and meet his gaze again. "Are you currently on the FBI's most wanted list?" I ask in a steady voice.

His forehead bewilderingly furrows. "No," he slowly answers.

"Have you gone on any cross country killing sprees?" I continue on, almost sounding blasé.

Finally catching on to my dry attempt at humor, Edward smiles a little. "Can't say that I have," he replies in a lighter tone.

I pretend that I am seriously evaluating his responses. Tilting my head as I study him, I ask, "Do you sell narcotics from the backseat of your car?"

He leans back in his chair and slightly squints his eyes, as though he needs to really think about the question. "No..." he eventually replies. Then, he offhandedly adds, "Well, at least not recently, I haven't."

"Funny," I deadpan, rolling my eyes at his joke.

Once his face resumes its normal expression, I go on. "In light of what you've told me so far, Edward, I think you should let me decide what's best for me from now on instead of taking it upon yourself to choose how I want to live my life. You may have saved my life, but it doesn't mean that you reserve the right to run it."

He stares back intensely, his green eyes almost appearing to burn in their sockets as he muses over what I said. After a few seconds, his face relaxes. "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry."

So far, so good. But what I want to ask next makes me nervous. I'm not sure why. His gaze is still fixed on me, waiting for me to say something, I'm sure. I avert my eyes down for a few beats to avoid his staring. Once I feel more confident, I lift my head, looking at him directly. "So... Friends?" I apprehensively suggest. Edward's forehead creases slightly while he thinks, his expression giving nothing away. It's up to him if he wants to accept my olive branch.

"Yes. _Friends_," he agrees haltingly, as if he's testing the way it sounds. Gradually, a smile creeps across his face. Bright and captivating, it's the type that would stop traffic in Times Square if he chose to unleash it upon unsuspecting bystanders. I'm positive if I wasn't currently occupied in making certain that he's being sincere, I would probably be blushing fire engine red. But, lucky for me, I control myself long enough to keep it together. Then, once I can see nothing to indicate that he will be reverting back to Robo-Edward, I smile back.

As Mr. Banner calls for class to begin, I twist away from Edward and face towards the front. My eyes briefly catch sight of a set of icy blue eyes from a couple of rows away, seemingly locked on me. Mike's face is the same as it was at lunch when Tyler demanded my attention, hard and irritated.

A puff of air escapes my lungs as a wave of frustration sweeps through me. I make things better with one person while simultaneously making another person jealous.

Why can't my life be easy?

**00000000000000000000**

After school, I stop by the Thriftway to pick up a few things. If I want Charlie to start eating healthier, I will need to distract him from his usual fare. I'm thinking fish will work tonight since it has the added benefit of being something he caught personally. His caveman instincts will not let him complain. At least not tonight. I'm sure once he realizes that his days of consuming heaping portions of greasy meat with a side of salt is long gone, he will try to rebel.

By the time he arrives home, the scent of baked trout has permeated the house. He tromps into the kitchen and he inhales the aroma coming from the oven. Throwing off his jacket onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs, he says, "Whatcha cooking tonight? It smells good."

"I decided to use some of those fish fillets you put up in the freezer," I comment while I pull out the baking pan. "It seemed a shame to let them go to waste after you went through the trouble of catching and cleaning them. They looked like they would make a nice dinner."

_Subtly praise his fishing prowess - Check._

Underneath his mustache, I can see a small smile on his face. It may not seem like it, but I can tell that he is very pleased by the compliment. "Well, that sounds like a plan. I'll go wash up," he remarks, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

_Caveman ego boosted - Check._

After he's finished at the sink, he takes a seat in his normal chair. I grab each of us a plate and place one in front of him. Next, I set a platter of baked trout in the middle of the table, flanked by a bowl of pasta salad and steamed asparagus. A basket of rolls, fresh from the oven, I place nearby.

Charlie takes a long look at all of the food before him. After a few moments of quiet rumination, he lifts his head. "Wow, Bells. Do you usually go all out for dinner on a Wednesday night? Or is today some holiday I wasn't aware of?"

_Overwhelm his senses so he doesn't notice anything missing from the table - Double Check._

I turn away to duck my head into the refrigerator before I answer him. If he sees my face, he'll know I'm up to something...

"Oh... This isn't much at all, Dad. I _like_ to cook," I manage to casually state. I pull out the last item from the middle shelf and set it on the table. It's a simple banana pudding that I decided to whip up at the last minute. I figure if he does start to catch on to my plan, I'll shove this under his nose. That should distract him for a while.

We dig into our dinner soon afterwards. He's making little happy grunts in the back of his throat, a sure sign that he's enjoying the meal so far. Though, once his fork touches the trout, I notice that his eyes are roaming the table in search of something.

"Where's the salt?" he eventually asks.

_Damn..._

"The fish is already seasoned," I slyly respond without answering his question. "There's even a hint of lemon."

"But it needs more salt." It almost sounds like he's pouting.

I catch his eye with an accusing look. "How do _you_ know?" I point out. "You haven't tried it yet."

"I like to sprinkle a little more on my food. It makes it easier to digest."

"Oh. Like last night at the diner when you poured enough salt on your steak to induce a heart attack?" I scornfully counter.

"It wasn't that much," he mutters under his breath.

"Yes it was," I say in disbelief. "You don't even realize it, do you? If you keep eating like that, you are going to be on the receiving end of a defibrillator before you hit forty-five."

Before he can contradict me, the phone rings across the room. Charlie tries to get up, but I tell him to relax and let me answer it. I toss my napkin onto the table and hop up from my chair.

"Hello," I say into the receiver.

"_Hey, I hope ya know I didn't mean it like that!"_ croaks a male's voice on the other end.

My face scrunches together, confused by the nonsensical statement. "Excuse me?"

"_Angela said that I might have offended you. She said that I sounded sexist! But I didn't mean to, Bella!"_ the vaguely familiar voice goes on. _"I respect women. I would never do anything with a girl if she didn't want to do it too! I SWEAR I'm not a sexist! Guys that try to force themselves on a girl deserve to be in jail."_

Ugh. Now I recognize that voice.

Tyler.

"I think you might be misunderstanding the meaning of the word she used," I wearily breathe out. "May I ask how you got this number?"

Yes. Please tell me who I need to kill tomorrow.

He cackles into the phone. "_You live at Chief Swan's house. Everyone in town has your phone number!"_

Right. Charlie's the guy everyone calls if they have an emergency.

They often say that being related to law enforcement is a sacrifice. You don't see them as much as you'd like. Their job comes as their priority.

And I guess having the village idiot have access to my home number is yet another sacrifice that I must bear.

"OK," I cautiously agree. "So why are you calling here? Do you have an emergency to report?"

"_No. I just wanted to tell you that I can do the girlie chores too_," Tyler chirps. "_I can wash dishes and sweep the floor. And sometimes Mom even let's me use the oven. I can do whatever you want."_

"Listen to me," I nearly growl. "I said _no_ to you this morning. I said _no_ to you this afternoon. So it should come as no surprise that I'm going to say _no_ to you now. So please stop with this madness. I'm not going to change my mind. _OK_?"

Tyler lapses into a few seconds of silence before he responds. "_Then how about I let you handle the kitchen chores while I tackle the vacuuming?"_

"I'm hanging up now," I grumble, finally fed up with him. I'm about to slam the phone down when another thought hits me. I place the receiver back at my ear and snarlingly add, "And don't call here again unless you have an _actual emergency_!"

Then I hang up.

Walking to my chair, I fall back down into my seat and try to eat again. I hear a throat clear across the table, and my eyes dart over to Charlie's face. His mustache is doing that twitching thing that hints at either uneasiness or a rising temper.

"What was that all about?" he probes.

"Nothing."

"Well, '_nothing_' sounded like '_something_' to me... Is there someone bothering you that I should know about?" He's using his "_overly-protective_" voice. The one that makes me worried that he will do something stupid (and possibly illegal) just because his daughter is being bugged to death at school.

Soon, images of Charlie holding a terrified Tyler hostage, tied up with a gag stuffed into his mouth, comes flooding into my thoughts.

I have to admit. It _is_ a tempting scenario. The boy irritated me all day long.

But, of course, I can't let anything like that happen. Tyler's a moron. Not a criminal.

"It was just that boy I was in the accident with yesterday," I explain to Charlie, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. "He's harmless, Dad. Don't worry about it."

Charlie stares at me for a few beats longer than necessary - probably wishing he could give me a good, old-fashioned Dad speech. But, thankfully, he is just as uncomfortable with talks of boys and menstrual cycles as I am, so he keeps quiet for now. Instead, he starts shoving bites of trout into his mouth while he contemplatively chews.

There is one bright side to Tyler's phone call.

Charlie forgot all about the salt shaker.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- My life is hectic right now. To be completely honest, it pretty much sucks. So, sorry about the slow updates. Hopefully it won't be like this for long.**

**Next Chapter\- **** Mike acts like a jackass - as usual. Edward starts behaving differently, to almost everyone's surprise. And o****ne of Jessica's fantasies becomes reality (the G rated ones, not R).**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	6. Only The Lonely - Know How I Feel

**Charter 6- Only The Lonely (Know How I Feel)**

**January 27, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

If dreams are a mirror into your soul, then I must be seriously disturbed.

I already had one bizarre nightmare the day of the accident. Then, last night, I had another one. I dreamt that I decided to go back home to Phoenix. I packed my bags, threw them into the passenger seat of the truck, and took off towards the highway. However, I had barely backed out of the driveway when a thick, gray fog surrounded me, making it impossible to see even the lines on the street. I kept driving, determined to get out of town. But it was like trying to maneuver through a maze with a blindfold on- there was no way for me to know where I was or even if I was headed in the right direction. Soon, I realized that I had been driving in a large circle, ending up right back where I started from. It was around my fourth lap when I woke up trembling in my bed.

Now, I'm no psychoanalyst, but it doesn't take a medical degree to figure out that both dreams have a common theme.

I am trapped.

Stuck in a town that boasts an umbrella store but not a decent fast food joint. You know your town is at the bottom of the barrel when you are required to drive an hour away in order to purchase a Happy Meal. And, believe me, the good people of Forks need more "happy" in their lives. A few chicken McNuggets might improve morale. Keep in mind, it rains or snows 206 days a year here. And the clouds block out the precious sunlight for longer than that. So, I sincerely believe that we need either a Zoloft prescription or a Big Mac. We deserve it.

After the dream, I have trouble falling back asleep. I lay awake for a long time afterwards, feeling sorry for myself and wondering what the weather would be like in Phoenix today. Would it be one of those cooler mornings where you might need to throw on a lightweight jacket before you head out the door? Or, would it be a "perfect" day- the ones where it's neither too hot nor too chilly. The warm sun kisses your skin and you greedily breathe in the dry, desert air. You can even drive with the car windows rolled down if you want to.

I don't need to check today's weather forecast for Forks. The sun only makes occasional appearances here- usually during the spring and summer months. Today, it will undoubtedly be cloudy and cold. The only uncertainty is if it will rain or not.

Next week will be Groundhog's Day, that day every year where Puxatoney Phil tells us if we will have six more weeks of winter or if we can expect an early spring. I can't speak for the rest of the country, but here in the Olympic Peninsula, whenever he predicts an early spring, it never happens.

Maybe we need our own giant rodent to forecast our weather. We can dub him "Forks Frank" and he can remind us every February 2 that it will be cold, cloudy, and rainy for the foreseeable future. He'll never give us false hope like that woodchuck from Pennsylvania. Plus, having an adorable woodland creature give us the bad news might take some of the sting out of the disappointment.

When the alarm beeps in the morning, I drowsily slap the snooze button, garnering me five more minutes to rest. Although I eventually fell back asleep last night, the amount that I received doesn't feel adequate enough.

After the second beep of my clock, I drag myself out of bed and sleep walk to my closet. As I dress myself, I remember that I forgot to check my email last night. Since Mom is traveling with Phil's baseball team, she has basically been living out of a suitcase. The only reliable way for us to communicate is through email. But the downside to this arrangement is that the computer Charlie bought for me is used and extremely old. And slow. Very, very slow. You have to be not only unfailingly patient, but also willing to devote vast amounts of your time in waiting for it to come to life. It is partly because of this reason that I rarely use it. It's no fun surfing the information superhighway when your PC takes two minutes to load up a search engine.

After I flick on the power button, I wander to the bathroom and brush my teeth. By the time I am finished, the computer is finally booted up and ready to go. It takes another minute for the old geezer to bring up my emails. And, just as I expected, Mom sent one last evening.

Clicking it open, I read:

_ReneeDwyer04- Hi baby! I want to remind you to wear something nice when you go out on your dates. Jeans and t-shirts are fine for school, but boys appreciate it when a girl dresses nicely. Remember that cute black wool skirt and white blouse I stuck in your red suitcase? That would be perfect for this weekend! Don't forget to let me know how everything goes. And I want details, young lady! Oh, and did you remember to clean out the refrigerator? I just thought about it today. If not, I'll ask Mrs. Dillard to do it for us when she's checking our mail. I love you! XO_

Twisting my mouth, I stare at the words my mother wrote. I love Mom. She is my best friend. But she has never truly understood some aspects about my personality. I don't have it in me to date just for the fun of it. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm refraining from the practice until I find the right person. Who exactly that will be, I'm not sure. I've been holding out for a Romeo type of guy to magically materialize in front of me - one that can speak in coherent sentences and understands that the Bronte sisters are not a new music group. However, I'm realistic. The likelihood of that happening is slim to none. What I do know for a fact is that if I couldn't find anyone matching my high standards in Phoenix with its one and a half million people, what is the likelihood that I'll do it in Forks? A place where you could cram the entire town's population inside of the grocery store and still have plenty of room for more? A place where the Lumberjack Festival, which hosts the much anticipated "loogie spitting contest", is the cultural highlight of the year?

Mom shouldn't have her hopes up so high. She is going to be very disappointed.

I flex my fingers a few times, and respond.

_87BSwan- Mom, I am not dating anyone. At all. I will be spending my Friday and Saturday nights reading and cooking dinner for Dad. OK? And, if I ever do decide to date, I will definitely wear jeans and probably a t-shirt because they are comfortable. The guy will either have to deal with the way I dress or he can move on to someone else. BTW, we bought that black skirt for your boss's funeral. It has been permanently stained with that memory. And, yes, I tossed out all the dairy, fruits, and veggies from the fridge the day before I moved, so no need to bother the neighbor. I have to go to school now. Love you too. Bye._

I log off and sluggishly walk to the kitchen, fighting to suppress a yawn the entire way down the stairs. I don't feel like making breakfast this morning, so I nibble on a strawberry Pop Tart straight from the wrapper and sip on a cup of hot coffee. I don't normally drink coffee, but Charlie is a devout believer in the stuff. He drinks his black every morning. In order for it to taste halfway enticing to me, I have to dump spoonfuls of sugar and cream into my cup. But I need the caffeinated boost today or I otherwise risk not having enough mental energy to combat Tyler. It's scary to think that one cup of coffee may mean the difference between me staying strong and telling him "no" repeatedly, or tiredly throwing up my hands and agreeing that he can be my slave.

The parking lot is filling up by the time I pull into the school grounds. Scanning my surroundings, I see no sign of Tyler so far. I carefully begin to make my way to first period English, praying that I won't run into the shaggy-haired doofus. It isn't until I round the corner of the office building that I finally spot the top of Tyler's head poking up from above the sea of shorter students that surround him. He's standing in the middle of a sidewalk a couple of dozen feet away, slowly turning in place as he examines each passing face. I don't need to be informed of who he is searching for.

It feels as though I stumbled onto the movie set of an alternate version of _The Terminator_. But instead of Tyler being an advanced robot from the future who wants to kill me, in this scenario, he wants to slowly drive me to the brink of insanity with his ridiculous offers of scrubbing my house's toilet and dusting the living room. He probably came up with more "ideas" last night and wants to share them with me. However, I heard enough yesterday to last me for the rest of my life. And I'm exhausted. I'm in no mood to deal with him right now.

In defense, I search for an exit strategy before he notices me. Taking a look around, I see a cluster of squeaky-voiced girls walking by that look like their faces have been freshly spray painted with every beauty product imaginable. Instantly, I merge with their group, effectively hiding my head behind a girl that stands a few inches taller than me. I move along with them as they leisurely meander across campus. I figure that if Tyler does happen to look this way, the bleach blonde highlights and glossy pink lipstick that some of these girls are wearing will blind his retinas long enough for me to escape.

One of them, a blonde-haired girl that I've seen around school a few times, appears to be their ringleader. Another girl that I take gym with refers to the blonde girl as "Lauren". She's pretty in a showy kind of way. And, based on how she carries herself, she knows it, too. She dismissively tosses her hair around as she walks, rolling her eyes and smacking on a wad of chewing gum. The giggling girls tag along behind her, rapturously hanging on to her every word just like I would imagine Jesus's disciples would have done two thousand years ago. Of course, this girl isn't divulging philosophic wisdom to her followers to bring about brotherly love and world peace. Instead, she's sneeringly recounting the "gag-worthy" dress that her history teacher showed up in yesterday. Personally, I believe that any female above six years old that applies that much glitter to her face without having the excuse of being a Vegas showgirl shouldn't be casting stones.

The Glitter Queen, aka Lauren, eventually notices me trying to blend in towards the back of their group. That's my problem, I guess. Me blending in with the Maybelline Gang is an impossibility. Long ago I accepted that I am a plain Jane. I don't care much about my clothes as long as it looks fairly presentable, and I never wear make-up unless there is a formal occasion, like a wedding, that I need to attend. And both of these things appear to be very important to this group.

Lauren immediately stops walking and whirls around to face me with her hand embedded on her hip. She crinkles her nose and flashes her cold, unfriendly eyes at me, contemptuously staring in the very same way the average person would look at their shoe if they had accidentally stepped into a pile of dog poop.

Humphing out her disapproval, she scans my ordinary clothing choices - seeming especially disgusted by my plain white sneakers. "Do you, like...need something?" she asks using a high, nasally voice.

My self-esteem takes a bit of a hit. Glitter Queen obviously doesn't like me. I suddenly feel very unwelcome.

"I'm just, umm...walking to class," I awkwardly respond. Without giving Lauren the chance to insult me further, I break away from my hiding spot and continue on to class, carefully glancing over my shoulder to ensure that Tyler hasn't spotted me as I sneak away.

While I keep track of his whereabouts, I inadvertantly cause more chaos. I walk right into someone, whacking my forehead into the shoulder of my unfortunate victim, and he yelps out in pain.

Wincing, I cover my mouth with my hand, ashamed at myself for my carelessness. "I'm sorry, Eric," I embarrassingly groan. "I should have been watching where I was going."

Rubbing his shoulder, he shakes his head with a small smile on his face. "It's all right, Bella. It was just an accident," he replies.

My eyes scan the area where I hit him, checking for signs of injury. "I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?"

"It's fine. Don't worry. I'm tougher than that!" he chuckles, dismissing my concerns.

Eric's reassurance makes me examine him again. I have difficulty associating "toughness" with him. He wears dress pants that reach well above his belly button, in the same position that you might find on a ninety year old man. His black hair is carefully smeared with gel so that he can mimic a Spock-like hairstyle. And, if we were to compare arms, I'm pretty sure that I pack more muscle.

Not sure what I should say in response, I just smile and begin walking to class. Since we share first period, Eric joins me and we stroll side-by-side to the English building.

After a few steps, he tries to make conversation.

"So... You made any plans for this weekend?" he curiously asks.

"Just hanging around the house with my dad," I answer.

"Oh. Takin' it easy, huh?" he replies. "I'm going to Seattle."

My eyebrows lift. "Wow. I bet that's a long drive."

He snort laughs a little and smiles. "Yeah. About four hours if you go the speed limit. But I've waited months for this. A few hours behind the wheel will be well worth it in the long run. Me and a few friends from Port Angeles are heading out Friday evening so we can be the first in line Saturday morning! I already bought my ticket and saved up enough cash for the gas to get there. It's gonna be awesome! I just hope that everything goes as planned." Inexplicably, Eric sighs and adds in a dispirited voice, "I'm getting Austin to cover for me this weekend. I told my mom that I'll be at his house all the way til Sunday morning."

I have to hide my astonishment. He has never shown this side of himself before. Lying to his parents? Sneaking off to Seattle?

Based upon my limited interactions with Eric, I have only seen evidence of his squeaky clean image. He is the math club president. His hand is the first one up whenever a teacher asks the class a complicated question. Last Friday, I heard him have a heartfelt debate with a boy from a grade below ours on which light saber is more desirable - red, green, or blue? And once he spent five minutes explaining to me why _Battlestar Galactica_ was the most underappreciated sci-fi series of all time.

"What exactly is it that you're going to?" I wonder aloud. "Is it a concert or something?"

He bashfully smiles and shakes his head. "Naw. Me and the boys are heading to the D&D convention. There'll be vendors selling all the merch you could ever want!" His eyes then glaze over and his voice drops down to an awed reverence. "And I heard that there will even be a display case with the original box set."

"D&D?" I perplexedly repeat.

"Dungeons and Dragons," he placidly clarifies as I open the classroom door. "This is will be my first time going."

I edit my previous thought. Eric is more of a rebellious geek than troublemaker. At least he's consistent.

"I'm not sure if I understand why your parents wouldn't want you to go," I gradually say.

"Mom thinks I'm not old enough to go on a trip without adult supervision," he says with an eye roll as he takes a seat in the desk in front of mine. "Which really sucks cause I'm a seventeen year old man! I'm not a toddler anymore! And Dad's no help cause he's still hoping that I'll grow out of D&D and all my other hobbies just so I can sign up for the football team. He used to be the quarterback here, so he thinks I'm damaging his _precious_ reputation."

I sadly regard Eric, suddenly feeling sorry for him. He may not be the most popular or coolest person around, but I'm not either. He has a right to enjoy what he wants - even if it doesn't quite meet his dad's expectations.

"Well, I hope you have a good time in Seattle," I honestly tell him.

"Thanks," he responds with a smile. "I'm really looking forward to watching the tournaments, too. My friend Tom is gonna compete. He's a Druid." Eric subsequently expounds on the elaborate rules of the game, becoming more and more animated as he speaks. I have no clue what he's talking about, but I try to pretend that it interests me for his sake.

A couple of minutes into his explanation, a sharp laugh comes from my right. "Are you talking about that lame game _again_?" Mike snorts, plopping down onto the desk next to mine. "You talk about it _all_ _the_ _time_. News flash, Yorkie- no girl is ever going to want to hear you go on and on about something so boring. Find a new subject for a change!"

Then, with a cheerful grin, Mike turns to me. "So... Bella. Did I ever tell you about the time I sold five pairs of galoshes in only one day? It was a sales record! My mom took a picture and everything!"

Without being able to hold it in, a yawn escapes from my mouth. Good thing Mike never notices that kind of thing or else it might hurt his feelings.

**00000000000000000000**

When the bell rings at noon, Jessica and I walk towards the cafeteria. We're almost there when she recognizes Angela just ahead of us. Angela is easy to spot. She's one of the tallest girls that I have ever met.

Jessica yelps out Angela's name while frantically waving her arms around. Angela pauses midstep and swings around, a patient smile already in place. She waits until we come closer and joins us as we enter the lunchroom.

"I'm so glad I caught you, Ang!" Jessica excitedly trills. "I've got news. Big, BIG news!"

We take our place in the lunch line with Jessica in front of us. Angela smiles a little, takes off her glasses, and cleans one of its lenses with her untucked shirt. After she puts them back on, she lightly teases, "Bigger than when you found out they were opening a Papa John's in Port Angeles? You told me that was the biggest, best news _ever_."

Jessica curtly shakes her head. "No! This is, like, a _hundred times_ more important than that!" she exclaims, her eyes gleaming with unsuppressed enthusiasm. "Do you remember how Christina Wilkinson told me that she wasn't interested in Jason _at __all_?"

Knitting her brows as she thought, Angela slowly shakes her head back and forth. "No," she eventually confesses.

Rolling her eyes, Jessica huffs out an exasperated sigh. "It was the day after we got back from Winter break. I told you how I saw her at the Christmas party and straight out asked her."

Angela puckers her lips, straining to think. A few seconds later, her mouth drops open a little. "Oh. I remember now. You said that Christina insisted that they were just friends, but you said that they stare at each other too much for that to be true."

Now happily grinning, Jessica appears mollified that Angela recalled the story. "_Exactly_," she gleefully emphasizes. She leans in closer to Angela and me, a triumphant smirk gracing her face. "Well, guess who was seen last night at a restaurant in PA, holding hands and practically _mauling_ each other with their tongues?"

Angela briefly catches my eye, giving me a knowing look that seems to say "Jessica's mouth will be lifting off in approximately T minus five seconds".

She turns back to Jessica and cheekily surmises, "I'm gonna take a wild leap and say it was Jason and Christina."

Jessica's entire body shakes from the excitement of being the person that gets to share the gossip with us. She reminds me of a volcano that's on the verge of erupting. And she does exactly that. Her mouth opens and she spews out more detailed information about the teenage love affair than I think possible for her to know. And it's way more than I care to know, too. Angela and I get the scoop on what they wore, what they ate, the things they talked about on their date, and how many kisses they shared in public. I'm not sure if any of what she is sharing is even true. I take the news with a grain of salt.

Her story ends by the time we arrive at our usual table. Angela sits across the table while Jessica takes the chair beside me. Soon they talk of other matters while I begin to eat. I can tell that the lunch ladies tried harder than usual to make our food more appetizing. The chicken patty on my tray even looks like real meat today. That's a definite improvement on the mystery meat of last week. Whatever it was, they tried to hide it's blotchy gray color under a puddle of brown gravy. But I was not fooled. I had a plain ham sandwich and silently prayed for the souls and stomachs of the kids that felt brave enough to eat the other stuff.

I'm looking down at my tray, cutting up the chicken into smaller bites, when the empty seat next to mine is pulled out. Mike's voice is already running at full throttle, eagerly sharing more stories regarding his parents' store. I sigh and begin to raise my head to greet him.

Yet before I can fully turn, I discover a pair of emerald green eyes fixedly watching me from across the room.

Edward stands in the middle of an aisle, his lunch tray gripped in his hands. Standing in place, he makes no move to leave his spot as the other students attempt to pass by him. His face is neither scowling nor frowning. He's even maintaining eye contact with me. This has to be an indication that he hasn't reverted back to ignoring me.

Right?

Once the initial surprise wears off, I smile and try to forget all about his mood swings from yesterday. In reaction, he smiles back. It's small, yet still eye-catching. Almost unconsciously, I release a breath of pent-up air and relax. He is at least trying to be friendly, I rationalize.

My own smile spreads wider and I shyly lift my fingers to give a tiny wave. But instead of waving back, Edward's head snaps to his left, towards his family. His four siblings are already seated, and each one of them are curiously watching him as he stands there in the middle of the cafeteria. His sister Rosalie says something, and without giving me another glance, he walks over to the Cullen lunch table.

"Did you hear what I said?" I hear Mike whine.

My teeth bite down on my bottom lip as reality hits. Mike had been talking to me and I tuned him out completely.

Oops...

Turning towards him, I see a deep frown on Mike's face. His icy blue eyes appear to concentrate their fury at something across the cafeteria.

"Oh. I'm sorry," I quickly apologize. "I was just waving hello to someone. Go on and finish what you were telling me."

The angry set of his eyebrows slowly return to a normal position while the corners of his mouth rise up, almost resembling a smile again. "OK," Mike agrees, sounding pacified. "So Doug and I picked a place to camp for the night out near Forsythe Trail. It had a water source nearby. Flat, level ground. It was _perfect_. We threw up our tent and ate dinner before the sun even set. Since we were bushed, we decided to hit the hay early. That's when Doug dragged out his sleeping bag." Mike laughingly tsks and shakes his head. "It was a regular _feather down sleeping bag,_ Bella," he chuckles as though that was a travesty. "_Everyone_ knows that you bring either a synthetic insulated sleeping bag or have a _water-resistant_ feather down bag when you go camping in the Northwest! Before that night, I thought Doug was smarter than-"

"Do you mind if I sit here today?" a smooth voice asks nearby, somehow blocking out the end of Mike's story.

Without another thought, my head whirls around faster than I think possible. Edward is standing behind the empty chair directly across from me. He's looking down at Angela, waiting for her to answer his question.

Nodding her head in approval, Angela kindly says, "Sure. Go ahead."

Smiling unassumingly, he sits down next to her. "Thank you," Edward deeply utters.

It isn't long before his eyes roam around the table, seeming to briefly examine each face. "Hey," I say in greeting once he finds my own.

"Hello," he responds. One corner of his mouth rises higher than the other, producing a smaller version of the lopsided smile that I find far too distracting for my own good.

Feeling as though I might be staring for a few beats too long, I nervously flick my eyes to my right and they land on Jessica, who is sitting next to me. That's when I notice that she is immobilized. Her eyes are as large as saucers as she ogles Edward. Her spellbound reaction to his presence is similar to when in _Raiders Of The Lost Ark_ the Nazis unblinkingly stared at the Ark of the Covenant until it melted their faces off. Even her mouth hangs loosely open. If she doesn't close it soon, I'm pretty sure drool will begin to drip out.

I think having him so close is too much for her. Maybe we should have asked him to approach the table slowly so she could have had adequate time to adjust.

"How come you're not sitting with your brothers and sisters today?" I overhear Eric ask Edward.

In response to the question, Edward's face relaxes and he shrugs his shoulders. "I was in dire need of a change in scenery. Emmett and Jasper are arguing over who will win the Super Bowl and they always get overly emotional." Casually, he adds with a playful smirk, "And, Alice is pestering me about cleaning out my closet just so she can be the one to reorganize it. I think she has some sort of disorder."

Angela laughs a little, and when my eyes dart over to look at her, I happen to notice Alice rising from her seat at the Cullen table. She's glaring at the back of Edward's head with a dirty look. Yet before she can fully stand up, her boyfriend Jasper catches her by the elbow and gently tugs her back down to her chair, whispering into her ear until she settles back down.

That's strange. I wonder what that was about?

After Angela's laughter has subsided, I stop watching what's happening across the room and instead refocus on Edward. "Well, you're welcome to sit with us whenever you like," I announce, wanting to make him feel welcome.

I glance over at Jessica, who is still dazedly leering at him. She's in such a state of disbelief that I don't believe that her eyes have blinked at all for the past two minutes. And she hasn't said one word since he appeared. I think that this may be the longest stretch of time that she has ever went without speaking during the lunch hour.

Under the table, I nudge her shin with my foot, hoping to kick-start her brain before she embarrasses herself any further. It seems work. With her brown eyes confusedly fluttering a couple of times, her brain reboots. Her gaping mouth snaps shut. Then, all at once, the untapped energy that she had been holding inside of her finally explodes.

"Yes!" she shrilly bursts out, not bothering to hide her elation at having the object of her obsession within arms reach. Beaming from ear to ear, she takes in a tranquilizing breath, trying to appear calmer. "I mean, I agree," she says in her best attempt at sounding nonchalant.

Bowing his head in acknowledgment, Edward tactfully mutters, "Thank you."

Jessica's leg begins agitatedly shimmying under the table as she begins to share the latest high school gossip she has scrounged up. She's trying very hard now to keep her cool in front of Edward. If it wasn't for her knee shaking like a leaf, I would never guess how excited she is. I have to admit, I am a little impressed by her restraint. Based on the level of fascination she has shown for him, I had feared that she would do something outrageous. Like jumping into his lap and admitting that she takes pictures of him whenever he isn't looking. She probably has an altar devoted to his image in her room that she worships every night before going to bed.

Whereas she is beyond thrilled today, Mike is definitely not. Like Jessica a couple of minutes earlier, he hasn't spoken since Edward sat down. But I don't think it's because he is happy or in shock. As I eat, I notice Mike is sitting there with a pinched mouth while silently observing Edward with a look of disgust- similar to how Lauren looked at me this morning.

Edward, on the other hand, seems unaffected by the waves of unfriendliness coming from Mike. He even contributes to the conversation every so often. I'm not sure how he can do it. If I had someone openly despising me three feet away, I wouldn't be able to feel comfortable at all.

Without being able to help myself, I find my eyes periodically drifting to see what he is up to. I notice little quirks in his behavior that seem unusual for a teenage boy in a small country town. For one thing, he is very formal while he eats his lunch. His posture is perfectly straight as he cuts up the food on his tray into small, bite-sized pieces. Using a sophisticated technique, he plunges his fork into the pieces of meat and neatly places it in his mouth. Not a crumb falls on the table. Every so often, he carefully blots his mouth with his napkin. Yet, despite his urbane table manners, he somehow seems relaxed and suave. Kind of like a modern day Cary Grant - that classic Hollywood actor Mom loves so much. I half expect for a waiter to appear behind him and ask if he would like to consult the wine menu.

At one point, while my head is turned towards Jessica, I see him in my peripheral vision moving around. Catching my attention, I sneakily peek his way. He has placed his fork and knife upon his tray and appears to be digging for something in his pants pocket. Without warning, his head pops up to scan the table, his eyes cautiously looking around. Once he believes that he is not being watched, his eyes drop down to his lap for a few seconds. Not long afterwards, he stuffs whatever he was looking at back into his pocket.

My thoughts turn speculative as I continue to pretend that I didn't notice what he was doing. What could he have that would make him appear so nervous about being seen? Like I said before, he doesn't strike me as the type of guy to have something dangerous or illegal. So drugs or weapons can probably be ruled out. Maybe it's something personal. Something that would be embarrassing to be seen with but he can't be without it. Like medicine. Or-

"Hey, Bella!" abruptly screeches the last voice I want to hear today. I had successfully avoided him up until now. I should have known that he'd find me at lunch time...

"Hi, Tyler," I ruefully heave out, already feeling exhausted.

All six seats at the table are filled, so at least he can't join us like he did yesterday. But he does squat down in between Jessica and me, wedging himself as deeply as possible in order to be at eye-level. Dreamily grinning like he just finished huffing a tube of Super Glue, he says, "How about this? How about, for the next month, I give your truck a good wash and wax every weekend."

My truck's paint job is so ancient that it's nothing more than rust now. A "good wash and wax" would leave nothing but bare metal.

Besides, seeing Tyler at my house every weekend isn't going to work either. I try to relax there. And I cannot relax when someone like Tyler is in my vicinity. He would give me a nervous breakdown.

Shaking my head, I try to remember that slapping an idiot is probably against the Geneva Convention.

"No," I calmly but unwaveringly inform him. "I meant it when I said that you didn't need to do anything for me. I'm _fine_. My truck's _fine_._ Everything's fine_."

I can see his beady hazel eyes vacantly blinking back at me, likely ignoring everything I just told him. I would have an easier time negotiating peace in the Middle East than making this boy understand that I don't need his assistance.

In desperation, I rack my brain in search of a way out of the problem. Within seconds, I realize that my answer is sitting right across from me. And a plan forms in my head.

Peeking over at Edward, I tell Tyler, "If you want to do something nice, go do something for Edward- _he's_ the one that deserves it."

And he does deserve some recognition. Tyler keeps harping on about how he almost killed me, yet Edward was in just as much trouble...

Tyler's forehead creases and he confusedly blinks back. "Oh," he gradually puffs out. Slowly turning to look at Edward, he asks, "You want me to wash and wax your car, too?"

Saying nothing for a short time, Edward's brow searchingly arches up as he analyzes the situation. "No thank you, Tyler," he guardedly replies. "That won't be necessary. You don't owe me anything- I assure you."

Inwardly, I'm smiling and shaking my head at Edward's naïveté. Tyler does not understand the meaning of "You don't owe me anything". That boy will be throwing out idea after idea in order to "make up" for almost killing him. Edward will soon learn that Tyler is irritatingly persistent.

But at least I will no longer be the only target on Tyler's hit list. He'll have to alternate between annoying two people instead of just one. I mean, he can't be in two different places at once. He'll be forced to divide his time between two potential victims. I'll finally have a break.

My plan is _foolproof_.

"Are you sure?" Tyler reconfirms.

Edward chuckles a little and nods. "Trust me, I'm 100% positive on _that_," he emphatically smiles.

"OK," Tyler breezily replies, shrugging his shoulders in acceptance. Slapping on a dopey grin, he refocuses right back on me without appearing to give Edward's refusal another thought.

Wait.

_What_?

That's it? All Edward needs to do is reject him once and he accepts it? Just like that?

"But I'm still going to do something to make it up to you," Tyler fervently insists. He begins to rise up from his crouched position until he's fully standing up. "I promise!" he cheerfully throws in.

"No, _please_-" I urgently rush out, trying to explain to him for the umpteenth time that he shouldn't bother. Maybe if I say it exactly like Edward did, the idiot will finally get it through his thick skull...

But Tyler is already on the move, strolling away from the table before I can say a word. "Well, catch ya later, Bella! Don't worry, I'll think of something!" he carelessly yells out for the entire student body to hear.

I don't normally condone violence. Physically fighting someone is rarely the proper way to respond to a problem. But I'm not going to lie. As Tyler shuffles away from me, I'm daydreaming about at least causing the boy a little bodily harm. A black eye, perhaps. Or maybe a quick punch to the gut. The only thing that saves Tyler is the fact that Charlie would be extremely embarrassed if he has to arrest his teenage daughter at her school.

After Tyler leaves, Edward interrupts my dark fantasy. He's sitting there with a face that appears free of emotion. His posture is relaxed as he leans back in his chair. Yet the green hue of his eyes are brilliantly shining while he observes me, twinkling in apparent amusement. His tongue darts out to briefly moisten his top lip. Then, in a contemplative tone, he lightly quips, "That was certainly a creative way to dodge Tyler's attempts to make amends to you. I've never been thrown under a bus before."

I tense up a little at his lighthearted teasing. It's not fair that I'm targeted by the moron all by myself. And what makes it worse is that Edward believes it's funny that I'm being annoyed to death.

I stubbornly wrinkle my forehead, sharply looking back at him, and insist, "I didn't throw you under _anything_."

OK. Maybe I did a little bit. But Edward doesn't need to point it out to everyone at the table. I've been embarrassed enough as it is this week...

Continuing on, I say, "I was trying to remind him that it wasn't just me involved in that accident. He shouldn't concentrate on me when you were right there, too."

The corner of his lip inches up into a small, crooked smile. "Ah," he knowingly hums, "but I don't believe his priorities lie with anyone except _you_ at the moment."

Tiredly, I heave out a breath. I guess I should have known that Tyler could only handle annoying one person at a time...

"That's what I was afraid of," I grumpily mutter.

Jessica cuts in to say that she heard that Tyler had been told by his father that he could only leave his house in the case of school, work, or fire until further notice. Evidently, the accident in the parking lot was sending their car insurance payments through the roof. A mere week's grounding was now deemed too inadequate since he had been at fault.

If what Jessica says is true, I'm not sure how Tyler planned on "making it up" to me if he's grounded at home. But, knowing my luck, his dad would probably love to have his son slaving away at my house for a few hours every day. Living with the boy can't be easy. He would likely appreciate having his son worry someone else for a while.

Soon, Angela changes the topic to something other than Tyler, relating a story where her twin little brothers decorated her bathroom in dozens of swirls of toothpaste after she briefly left them alone to check on something cooking in the microwave. That incident marked the first time they were sent to time out.

Afterwards, Jessica regains control of the conversation, complaining about the amount of homework our teachers have been assigning to us lately. She sounds particularly upset at our U.S. Government teacher who asked that we evaluate the performance of every United States president since Washington and rank them by their effectiveness.

"We need to take a serious break or something," she concludes after her rant is done. Looking over at Mike and me, she adds, "We're still on for the trip, right? I need to know there's at least one thing I can look forward to."

Edward's face snaps up from his food, scanning our three faces. "What trip?" he asks.

Jessica's eyes bulge out of her head as her excitement intensifies. She looks a lot like one of those weird stress relieving toys that you squeeze and its eyes pop out.

"Ohmygosh! I totally forgot!" she chirps, bouncing in her seat. "When you were out of school last week, we decided to take a trip down to the La Push Ocean Park!"

And I forgot all about it, too. The day after I moved here, during lunch, Mike had proposed the idea of having a group outing to First Beach. I didn't take it seriously at the time, so I only gave them a "I'll need to think about it" as an answer. I had just met these people. It took weeks of adjustment at my last school before I felt comfortable hanging around anyone after school.

Angela swivels to her right and asks Edward, "Have you been to La Push yet?"

"No, I haven't," he answers, shaking his head. "What's it like?"

She kindly smiles and says, "It's different from what you would normally expect at a beach. There's not much sand to speak of- the shore is made from mainly stones and pebbles. But I think that's what makes it special. Each pebble is smooth, polished, and unique. There's a lot of driftwood scattered around, too. I love that about the beach, though most people think that the tide pools are the biggest draw. Depending on weather and time of year, the pools may have hundreds of creatures swimming around in them. Once I saw an octopus in one of them."

"Yeah, all of that is _nice_," Jessica cuts in, batting her eyelashes at Edward. "But I think that the best part of First Beach is when the weather turns warmer. That's when you can slip into a swimsuit, jump into the water, and let your instincts take over." Allowing her voice to drop into a husky rasp, she coyly asks, "You do _like_ swimming,_ don't you, Edward_?"

He uneasily clears his throat. "Not particularly," he carefully drawls. "I prefer dry land."

To her credit, Jessica only appears disappointed for a few seconds before she's beaming again. "_Me_ _too_!" she perkily agrees. "I just _love_ sunbathing on the beach. And, it's so much fun exploring the paths around the reservation. Then, after sunset, we can roast marshmallows over a bonfire!"

"I checked the forecast for next Saturday," Mike suddenly announces from beside me, "and it looks like the weather will be too cold and rainy that day, so I think we should cancel it for now."

Mike pauses to coldly stare across the table for several moments, then nods his head in Edward's direction. "Besides, I really don't think it's a good idea to take _him_ out into the great outdoors. He didn't do so well the last time he was out there." Mike's mouth curls into a scornful smirk, and adds in a accusing tone, "_Did you, Edward_?"

While Mike appears to gloat over what he said, Edward passively regards Mike and says nothing at first. As for myself, I'm randomly swinging my head back and forth between Edward and Mike, trying to understand what's going on. What did Mike mean? And why is everyone else either nervously fidgeting in their chair or uncomfortably looking away from the table, as if they are trying to avoid the suddenly awkward situation by pretending that they are not really here?

It doesn't take long for Edward to respond. Appearing to cautiously select his words, he slowly says in a steady voice, "That was a difficult time in my life. I wasn't in the right frame of mind."

Mike chuckles a few times, yet his eyes remain sharp and unmerciful. This is a stark contrast to his usual joking and friendly personality. "Not in the right frame of mind?" he derisively repeats, keeping his focus locked on Edward's face. "Let me tell you something, Bella. Edward here, back last summer, got himself lost near the National Park. He didn't bother bringing any supplies. Not even a map. From what I was told, he probably would have died out there if it hadn't been for your dad finding him."

I suck in a lungful of air, gasping in surprise. Edward almost _died_? And _Charlie_ saved him? Why had I not heard this story before now? And why does Mike appear to take pleasure from sharing the news? How could someone being lost in the wilderness be something he can laugh at?

Somehow, despite the way Mike seems to be trying to push his buttons, Edward remains calm and composed. He purposely ignores Mike, choosing to address me as if I were the only person at the table.

"As I was _trying_ to say," Edward evenly stresses. "I had just lost my mother. I had to leave the only home I had ever known to live in a place that I knew absolutely nothing about..." Unexpectedly, he stops speaking, struggling to complete his train of thought.

I have seen Edward in a few different moods in the short time I have known him. I've seen him amused, intrigued, irritated, and indifferent. However, this is the first time I've seen him hurt. His luminous green eyes have dimmed, appearing somber and desolate.

Although I do not know the full story of what happened to him back last summer, I suddenly feel as though I can relate to what he must have gone through.

Didn't I leave my entire life behind me in order to move to the very last place on Earth that I would want to live? I have been dealing with bouts of depression ever since my plane touched down in Port Angeles. If it wasn't for me not wanting to worry Charlie to death, I would probably be wearing my gray sweatpants and weeping nonstop up in my bedroom right now. And I feel this way without having to experience a tragedy. I don't want to know how terrible it must be to lose your mother.

But what makes this situation worse is the fact that Mike has forced Edward to deal with his pain publicly. And Edward's only crime is that he chose to sit at a different table today. Forcing Edward to relive a horrible time of his life isn't something I want to be a part of. Every student and teacher at this school would know all of the details by tomorrow morning if he says anything more.

"Stop, Edward," I interrupt before he can continue. "You don't need to explain yourself. I understand."

He wordlessly stares back for a time, looking at me as if he can't fully believe what I just said.

"Do you?" he eventually asks, almost sounding awestruck. His eyes gradually regain some of the spirit that he had lost, seeming to concentrate all their attention on me. They become rejuvenated, deepening in color and intensity the more that they stare.

In response, I can only nod my head up and down. The power of speech has abandoned me. I'm locked in another staring contest with him, and I can't look away. It's beginning to feel like he really is a hypnosis wheel, the swirls of green in his eyes putting me into a trance. I'm pretty sure that if Edward felt like it, he could order me to cluck like a chicken at the snap of his fingers and I would probably comply.

How does he _do_ that?

I hear a breathy sigh come from my right. "You must be _really_ strong to go off on your own and survive out in the woods all by yourself," Jessica practically swoons.

The sound of her voice reawakens me and I free myself from Edward's piercing eyes. I look away from him, turning my body to face Jessica, and try to regather my composure.

"I don't know about that," he breathes out. "I will say that, since that day, I developed a deep respect for the forest. I never venture into it without a lot of consideration first."

Eric takes a bite of his salad, and announces with a nearly full mouth, "Well, I didn't want to go to La Push yet anyway. It's better to wait until spring when there's more of a chance to spot a whale."

I relax in my chair, grateful that the conversation has veered away from Edward and his problems (and also that no one appears to have noticed that I was awkwardly staring at him for way too long). Everyone seems eager to overlook the earlier incident. Mike, however, doesn't appear nearly as happy. He's frowning down at his tray of food, silent once again.

Jessica moans out loud and her face scrunches up like she is in pain. "Then what are we gonna do then? I'm gonna _die_ if we don't do anything til spring!" she complains in a whiny voice.

Angela smiles and tries to suppress her laughter. "I think you're being a little over dramatic. The Academy Awards aren't for another couple of weeks," she teases with a wink.

Jessica's face lights up and she frantically bounces in her chair. "That's it! Let's go to the movie's next Saturday night! Who's in?" she breathlessly shrieks.

Angela takes a few seconds to think, her mouth twisted to the side. "I'll have to ask my parents first, but it sounds good to me," she gradually agrees.

Jessica whips around to me, giving me a childish pout. "Bella?" she presses.

Uh, oh.

I'm being put on the spot AND she's giving me the same sad, puppy-dog eyes my mom sometimes uses when she is begging me to do something I'm not thrilled about.

This isn't fair. I can't fight _that_.

But I guess going to Port Angeles isn't such a bad thing. At least it's better than Forks.

"I'll have to let Charlie know first," I sigh, giving up.

From my other side, Mike says, "Count me in."

"Me, too," Eric adds moments later.

Across the table, Edward lifts his bottle of water and takes a swallow, seeming to savor the taste for several seconds. Placing the bottle back down on the table, he leans back in his chair. Then, asking no one in particular, he says, "What time?"

His question is met with stunned silence.

I look around the table, confused by everyone's reaction. Is it really _that_ much of a shock that he would want to do something besides hanging around Forks and gossiping at the Thriftway? If it were any quieter at this table, I would swear that the Twilight Zone theme song was being played in the background.

Jessica is the first to react. She whirls around to watch him, eyes wide and unbelieving. "I... I don't know," she shakily stammers. She begins to glance between Angela and me, a pleading look on her face.

Wow... Jessica doesn't know what to do. Having Edward finally accept an invitation to an after school activity is overwhelming her fragile state of mind. Normally she's the person that wants to hammer out the details.

Angela takes a second to think things over and comes up with a plan. "How about we agree to meet at 6:30 in front of the theater in Port Angeles."

Looking relieved, Jessica enthusiastically supports the suggestion. "Great idea! I'll drive the girls and Mike can drive the guys!" she optimistically squeals, as if it would be a fantastic idea to have Edward and Mike in the same vehicle for an entire hour's drive. I doubt it would go well. Mike hasn't exactly behaved in a friendly manner towards Edward.

Then, after another peek at the boy sitting across the table, her innocent excitement changes to a cunning, calculating plan to acquire her dream lover. "Or... unless Edward would feel more comfortable with us in _my_ car? There's plenty of room," she hopefully offers.

"That's OK. I'll take mine," he quickly declares, sounding like he already had an answer prepared for her suggestion.

We finish eating and return our trays to the front of the cafeteria. Before we part to go to sixth period, Jessica skips up to me with a gleeful smile. "I _told_ you that he would eventually cave! There's so much to do now! I'll call you later!" she whispers in my ear, and then runs off.

"What was that about?" Angela asks while we walk to biology together.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "But I have a feeling it has something to do with next Saturday, if you know what I mean. I think she may be a little excited."

With a knowing nod of her head, Angela grins. She then glances over her shoulder and, by reflex, I do the same. I observe Mike and Edward following a dozen or so feet behind us. Mike is talking to Edward, but it's too low for me to hear. However, based on Edward's clenched jaw and furrowed brows, I doubt they've made up and are swapping cookie recipes.

Seconds later, with his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, Edward stalks away and leaves Mike behind. Angela and I exchange worried glances before we separate in order to pick up our books from our lockers.

My locker looks like its last owner used it as a way to relieve stress. It has dents all over it, especially near the locking mechanism. Because of that, the door often sticks, making it difficult to open. It's like a game I get to play every school day. How long will it take Bella to crack it open this time? The answer for today- two minutes.

By the time I've opened it, I once again have company. Angela is by my side while Edward and Mike take up opposite positions nearby. The three of them stand there observing me as I pile my biology text book and notebooks into my arms. Lastly, I remember that I have homework assignments for Trig and Spanish. Since I don't want to make another trip at my locker today, I decide to go ahead and put them on my pile, too. Once I'm finished gathering my things, I slam my locker door shut and begin to walk toward Biology class.

Then, my shoe slides on a wet patch of gravel and absolutely everything in my arms scatters across the damp sidewalk.

Luckily for me, I don't land on my butt. I somehow keep myself from falling and manage to stay upright. But I do get to experience having three people witness how ungraceful I am.

As I take a moment to bleakly look down at the miniature disaster that I caused, someone brushes up against me as they pass my side.

"I'll get them," I hear Edward offer.

Before I can stop him, he's bending over and grabbing up my things while simultaneously holding his own books in his other arm. In mere seconds, he places them into my arms and backs up a few paces.

Great...

In less than a week's time, Edward has had to catch me from falling multiple times, tote me to safety, AND pick up my things when I dropped them.

How embarrassing is that? He probably thinks that helping me is becoming a full-time job.

I refrain from sighing at the situation and try to look him in the eye. "Thanks, but I could have picked them up myself, Edward. It was _my_ fault," I tell him, trying to sound firm.

Without appearing to worry himself over my irritation, he unconcernedly shrugs his shoulders. "I don't mind," he says with a hint of a smile. "It's always a pleasure to help out a _friend_." He puts stress on this last word, as though he is attempting to subtly hint at our conversation from yesterday.

Although I'm not fully sold on the fact that he thinks that it's OK to swoop in and clean up my mess, I do appreciate his message. So when I exaggeratedly roll my eyes at his corniness, I'm smiling a little, too.

As we walk to our class, Edward soon shoots out ahead in order to open the door for us. Angela calls out a quick "thank you" as we enter the room.

Mike is right behind me as I shuffle to my lab table. I expect for him to follow me there and talk like he normally does. But that does not happen today. Instead, he stomps to his own table and flops down into his chair. Obviously, he isn't in the mood to talk with me right now. But truthfully, neither am I.

Edward comes to sit beside me moments later. Class won't start for a couple of minutes more. We sit quietly for a short time as I contemplate about what happened at lunch today. Besides the time that Tyler interrupted us and Mike's cruel attempt to embarrass Edward, it was an OK day.

But curiosity soon gets the better of me.

"Hey," I half whisper, wanting to keep our discussion to ourselves. Once Edward is turned towards me, I continue. "What was Mike telling you a few minutes ago? You know, when we were going to our lockers?"

I was planning on confronting Mike about what he did today. So, if he said something stupid on top of what he already said at lunch, I need to know how mad I should be...

Edward's jaw tightens slightly again, but otherwise he appears unruffled. "Nothing much. Just the usual," he casually responds.

I disbelievingly tilt my head as I stare at him. I don't buy it.

"If it's that unimportant, then it should be no problem for you to tell me," I defiantly press.

He drags his fingers through his hair, seeming reluctant to discuss the matter. "I make it a habit to ignore everything that comes from Mike's mouth," he steadily exhales. "That's why I consider what he says as 'nothing much'. I would much rather speak of other things besides _him_ right now, if you don't mind."

His lips lift into an impish smile and he adds, "I know. Let's talk about your 'little helper' for a while. Tyler seems especially anxious to atone for the trouble he caused you. Why don't you fill me in on what he volunteered to do for you so far?"

I have to suppress the urge to stick my tongue out at him like a two year old. He's trying to avoid my question by bringing up the one thing I don't want to think about.

Stupid, brilliant boy...

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Since this chapter is hitting at over 10000 words, I have to cut it off here. I really wanted to end it with Jessica's phone call, but I think it is best to save that delightful conversation for next time.**

**Next Chapter\- Bella confronts Mike. Jessica intelligently discusses Edward's sudden willingness to hang out with them (it's either that or she freaks out). Be****lla spends quality time with Charlie. And the kids prepare to go to Port Angeles. What could possibly go wrong?**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**

**P.S. In case you were wondering, there is no loogie spitting contest (that I know of) in Forks. I made that up. Sorry to disappoint.**


	7. Danger Zone

**Chapter 7- Danger Zone**

**January 27, 2005**

**0000000000000000000**

"Multiple fission occurs in many unicellular organisms. Some single-cell parasites, such as the Blastocystis Hominis, can produce multiple 'daughter' Blastocystis... This is the parasite in its natural state before the process has begun," Mr. Banner drones in front of the classroom.

I cover up a large yawn with my hand. It's been a long, exhausting day and I got very little sleep last night. Cellular fission isn't the most exciting subject to learn about, but Mr. Banner is really making it seem as dull as possible. However, luckily for me, I've been through this lesson before. Back home in Phoenix, I took AP Biology and we learned all about this months ago. Nothing Mr. Banner is showing us is new to me. So I mimic the rest of the class, occasionally jotting down notes on my paper to make it seem like I'm paying close attention. But of course I'm not.

Mr. Banner's thumb clicks the button in his hand and the next image is projected on the screen. "And this is the parasite using a higher magnification." He says this as if the increased magnification makes the picture more interesting. But to everyone else in the room, it still looks like a glob of orange-stained gunk on a slide.

This is torture. Couldn't he at least throw something slightly original in there that I don't already know about? Something that would pique the interest of the entire class? Pretty soon my mind will shut down in an attempt to save what brain cells I have left.

My thoughts drift to other things while Mr. Banner flicks through the boring slide show. Questions concerning Edward and the incident near the Olympic National Park come to mind.

How did he become lost? Did he go for a hike, become disoriented, and couldn't find his way out? Or was he so distraught over his mother's passing that he didn't know what he was doing? Maybe even intentionally trying to hurt himself?

This last thought worries me.

I pause in my conjecturing and sneak a peek at the boy sitting inches away. Edward is busily writing something down in his spiral notebook. Every so often, his eyes flick up to examine the screen before darting back down. Curious, I glance at the paper and am immediately surprised. He's not only writing notes in his perfectly formed handwriting, he is also making a quick sketch of each slide our teacher is showing us. They aren't precisely identical, but they are good enough to impress me.

Right now, watching him like this, it's hard to believe that he once almost died out in the middle of nowhere.

But how much of that is even true? Edward didn't confirm anything to me other than he had been suffering before the incident took place, and that he had become lost in the forest. He didn't say much more than that. Mike was the one to claim that he would have died if it hadn't been for Charlie.

And how did Charlie come to play a role in this in the first place? Was there a search and rescue going on and Charlie just happened to be the one to find him?

My head reluctantly swings back towards the front, a tiny frown on my face. I have so many questions, but I don't think it would be right to ask for answers. The only person who could reliably answer them would be Edward, and I'm not brave or rude enough to bring it up again. It has to be a sore subject for him to openly discuss.

I guess Charlie could tell me his side of the story, but then he would wonder why I was suddenly asking questions about Edward Masen. And I don't want to have to explain to my father that my lab partner occasionally puts me into a trance and that I'm curious about him. I'd much rather deal with the lingering, unanswered questions concerning Edward's experience than have to live through something like that.

"Blastocystis Hominis takes anywhere from 4 to 6 days to finish the fission process," the teacher informs us. He pauses for several seconds, clicks the button in his hand, then lethargically states, "But we happen to be incredibly fortunate to have slides showing the entire event. A picture was taken every half hour until the parasite had reproduced itself. However, it sometimes takes until day 2 of the process before any visible changes occur."

Ugh...

The muted lighting in the room is causing my eyelids to feel heavy. And Mr. Banner's voice is the equivalent to a cup of chamomile tea.

I prop my elbow on the table and lean my face into the palm of my hand. It feels nice. I bet it would feel even better if I shut my eyes for a few seconds...

And it does.

I'm enjoying the sensation of complete darkness. The longer my eyelids stay shut, the more relief I feel. I'm sure just a minute or two more of this will be fine.

Besides, I still have one more class today. A little rest now will help me deal with gym later...

The teacher's colorless voice gradually evaporates...

My breathing slows down and my body relaxes...

...

Something shakes me by my shoulder, jarring me awake in the middle of class. Jerking up in my chair, I scan the room to see if anyone had been watching me. Mr. Banner is still standing in the front by his desk, engrossed in his side show and unaware that I had passed out for no telling how long. I'm grateful to see that he did not notice.

So, if it wasn't the teacher that woke me up, what did?

Warily, my head slowly turns to the boy to my left, praying that I would find him just as oblivious to my nap time session as our teacher. Instead I detect a hint of a smirk on his face as he writes in his notebook. A few moments later, he briefly makes eye contact, and the smile broadens until it causes the corners of his eyes to wrinkle.

Dammit!

He _would_ be the one to catch me asleep, wouldn't he? Am I doomed to continually humiliate myself in front of Edward? What did I do to deserve this? Did I piss off a voodoo priest in a past life? Am I _cursed_?

I halt in my self-loathing for a moment, musing over my last question. Being cursed would explain my tendency to trip and fall over my own two feet. I would much rather use that as an excuse than explaining that I was just born permanently clumsy.

At the end of class, I keep my head cast downwards as I scoop up my books. I find a part of myself hoping that Edward will run off to his next class without acknowledging me or bringing up what happened. But then another part of me - a worrisomely large part - doesn't want him to do that.

And I am afraid to think of what that may mean...

"It's nice to see that you woke up refreshed," a smokey voice whispers nearby. Shyly, I look up to see Edward leaning his back against the table as he quietly speaks to me, his eyes dancing and probably enjoying the sight of my blushing face.

"I only closed my eyes for a minute," I lamely declare, holding my head up high with faux confidence. However, even I am aware of how unconvincing I sound.

"Well, that was certainly a very _long_ minute," he teases with a lopsided smile, straightening back to his full height.

I anxiously look around at the other students as they leave the room. "Did, uh...anyone else see me?" I softly ask him.

Tilting his head to think for a moment, he then shakes his head. "I don't believe so," he replies.

I let out a breath of air, relieved by the news. Thank goodness for small wonders. My little afternoon nap could have been witnessed by an entire roomful of people instead of just Edward. And having him aware of it is bad enough.

"Hmm... I guess it could have been worse," I mumble. Nervously moving a strand of hair from my forehead, I awkwardly say, "Well, uh...thanks for reviving me."

He puffs out a quick laugh at my self-depreciating joke. "Oh, but the pleasure was all mine," he smoothly quips. Grabbing his books from the table, he begins to slowly back away towards the door, still watching my face as he does so. "Well... I suppose I'll see you on the morrow," he adds as he leaves.

My brows knit together. A strange, haunting sensation flows through me that feels similar to touching a doorknob and then being stung by static electricity. I've never felt anything like it before.

A moment later, I try to shake off the feeling before Edward notices anything amiss. "Umm...yeah. See ya tomorrow, Edward," I falteringly call out.

After he's gone, I eventually exit the classroom and begin walking towards the gymnasium. Once I'm outside, I pull the hood of my jacket over my head. It's lightly sprinkling, the air chilly and misty as the sporadic raindrops wet the sidewalk. Here in Forks, folks call this a nice day.

I'm halfway to the gym when someone pops up beside me. I look to my right and find Mike appearing a little less irritated than he was at lunch.

"Hey," he says soon after joining me, sounding as though he hadn't done anything wrong today.

"Hello, Mike," I reply in monotone without looking at him.

My unusual behavior alerts the normally unobservant Mike that all is not well with me. He turns to study my face, probably taking note of the stubborn set of my eyes as I walk to class.

"What's wrong with _you_?" he perplexedly questions.

"What's wrong with _me_?" I incredulously repeat. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself that question?"

Mike scratches his head, dumbly staring at me. "Huh?"

With an annoyed sigh, I stomp over to where the roof of the gymnasium hangs over the sidewalk, taking shelter from the rain and waiting for him to follow. Normally I don't like confrontation. In most circumstances, if someone annoys me or makes me feel uncomfortable, I try to ignore it. But, after what happened today in the lunchroom, I know that I have to say _something_.

After Mike joins me, I take a gulp of air and confront him. "I'm referring to the stunt you pulled earlier. Why would you bring up something like that in front of everyone? Don't you think Edward has been through enough as it is?"

I know that I'm being vague concerning what I'm upset over, but Mike appears to instantly understand. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth puckers out into a pout, as though he is hurt by my irritated attitude. "What? All I did was tell the truth," he crossly mumbles in defense.

Looking at him askance, I try to remain calm. "I seriously doubt you have all the facts," I evenly retort.

"I know the important ones," he claims with rising agitation. He then begins to count off each supposed fact on his fingers. "Masen went into the woods unprepared and without telling anyone. He got lost and couldn't even call for help because he forgot to take a cellphone. Then he was found passed out and hypothermic the next day by Chief Swan. He's lucky that he made it out of there alive and in one piece. He was in the hospital for days afterwards." Then he adds in a defiant voice, "And I heard all of this from one of the nurses that worked on him after your dad drove him to the ER, so I know it's gotta be true."

I briefly close my eyes, feeling a rush of frustration at his ignorance. Reopening them, I look at him and steadily reply, "Even if what you say is true, that doesn't give you the right to rub it in his face."

He shakes his head, denying my accusation. "I wasn't trying to 'rub it in his face'. I just thought that you had a right to know about it. Everyone else in town does."

"Well, I don't think that it should be up to you to make that decision. If Edward wanted to let me know about it, he would tell me."

"That's my point, Bella - if I hadn't said anything, you would have never known."

"If that's how he wants it, then we should respect it," I immediately counter. Hugging my books to my chest, I tap my foot on the sidewalk as I try to think of a way to explain that what he did was wrong.

"Let's reverse this scenario," I eventually continue. "How would you like it if something horrible happened to you and the entire school found out about it? And then, months later when you have maybe gotten over it a little, some guy in your class brings it up again - opening up old wounds and reporting it as though it was something to laugh at. How would you feel?"

I can tell that Mike doesn't want to answer my question. He remains silent for an uncomfortably long time before he says anything. "I guess I wouldn't like it," he grudgingly replies, eyes downcast.

"Exactly," I curtly nod. "He has feelings just like everyone else, Mike. It wouldn't hurt for you to remember that if and when he sits with us again."

His head snaps up, eyes sharp and furious. "He won't," he growls.

"And why not?" I stiffly ask.

"Because a Cullen doesn't belong at our table," he replies. "Never has, never will."

One of my brows arch upwards, only slightly surprised by his attitude. "Good thing he's a Masen then, huh?" I unwaveringly respond.

"You know what I mean!" he huffs with an eye roll. "He's lived with them since last summer. He's one of them now - like it or not. The Cullens keep to themselves, and that arrangement works just fine with me. They're too weird to be around. Once, I had Algebra II with Jasper and he creeped the hell out of most of the class. He would sit there in his chair and stare at the front of the room with the same facial expression _every single day_! It never changed! He wouldn't laugh. Wouldn't look sad, upset, angry, or happy. It was just a plain, blank face all of the time! It's like he's a robot with no emotions at all."

"Well, I can confirm to you that Edward does have emotions, so that should be one less thing for you to worry about," I shoot back, rolling my eyes.

"But I told you how weird he is!" he exclaims in disbelief. "Except for one time at the beginning of the school year, he has always stayed far away from us. The only times he hasn't sat at his family's table are when he comes to school by himself. And on those days, he made sure to stay clear from almost everyone. He would go sit at the table furthest away - usually to sit with Ben Cheney." Mike pauses, his face contorting into a deep frown while his voice drops to a suspicious grumble. "Then today, out of the blue, we wants to sit with us again... I'm telling you - he's _gotta_ be up to something."

I ignore the last part of what he says for now, too intrigued by the name he casually mentioned to tell him that he's being ridiculous. "Who's Ben?" I ask.

"You know him," Mike replies. "You two take Trig together. Thick glasses, dark hair, about your same height. He likes to sit with the band geeks at lunch."

Straining my brain, I recall someone matching that description who gave me a timid "hi" on my first day at school. That's all I can come up with at the moment.

After my question is answered, I go back to the main topic at hand.

"Well, that only goes to show you that maybe Edward isn't as different as you think," I firmly reply. "He sits with people besides his family, he has feelings - just like you or me, and he wants to try hanging out with us next weekend. I'm sure Jessica and Angela will be OK with it if he were to sit with us again."

Who am I kidding? Jessica would be more than OK with that. She would probably interpret it as a sign that he will be proposing soon.

"And that's another thing I don't like," Mike says, his light blue eyes squinting suspiciously. "I know for a fact that Jessica has invited him to do stuff with us almost every single day for the past four months. He has turned her down each time. And now, suddenly, he wants to do something with us? Don't you find that kinda weird?"

I bark out a scoffing laugh. "I don't understand you. A few days ago, you said that he was weird for keeping to himself. Now he's trying to be friendly, and you still criticize him. What does he have to do to make you happy?"

Mike incoherently mumbles under his breath. Then, louder, he musingly replies, "I just don't trust him. He's too...something. Like-" He abruptly snaps his mouth shut, a determined gleam in his eyes. A few seconds later, he says, "I think we should go to PA without him. We can make up an excuse and tell Edward that we decided not to go."

I numbly stare back at him, too tired to argue anymore. Whatever it was that made him dislike Edward so much obviously isn't going to be disappearing anytime soon.

"You know what, Mike?" I flatly reply. "Maybe I shouldn't go either. I think I'll just stay at home." Before he can respond, I pass around him and enter the gym.

"Hey! Wait!" he wails, dodging students and running up from behind me. I keep my focus centered on the girls' locker room, ignoring him as much as possible. "Don't be like that! You can't back out now!" he continues to plead once he catches up.

"Sure I can," I respond.

"But you already promised Jess and Angela that you'd go!"

"They'll understand once I explain to them why I canceled," I reply with a side glance.

This bit of news stuns him. His eyes bulge out as a frightening realization gradually dawns on him. If he uninvites Edward, I will back out of the trip and inform Angela and Jessica exactly why I changed my mind. And if Jessica finds out that Edward isn't going to the movies with us next weekend just because of Mike's stupid prejudice, I have no doubt that she will kill him.

And I think that Mike knows this, too.

"Fine, you win! He can come, alright?" he anxiously concedes.

Reluctantly, I turn around. Mike looks scared out of his mind, just like the kids in a Freddy Krueger movie after he enters their dreams. I've never seen Jessica in a bad mood, but she must be pretty terrifying if a boy that stands almost six feet tall appears panicked at the mere thought of angering a girl whose curly hairstyle makes up a quarter of her height.

I wait several seconds before I respond, mulling everything over before I make a decision.

"OK," I reply. I turn away from him, intending to head into the locker room to change when he calls my name. Pausing, I glance behind my shoulder and wait to hear what he has to say.

"Just don't tell Jessica or Angela," he begs in a low voice, nervously looking around to ensure that no one is listening in. "The last time I pissed Jessica off, she threatened to slash my tires - and that was just because I said that _Mean Girls_ was the dumbest movie ever."

Slowly I nod my head up and down, silently confirming his request. Then, without another word, I leave to change into my gym clothes.

Five minutes later, I line up with my classmates on the gym floor and Coach Clapp orders us split up into two teams for a game of handball. As usual, Mike is my teammate, and he seems to have completely forgotten about our prior disagreement. While we take up position against the opposing team, he smilingly boasts of his ability to set up a dome tent during a rain shower in under three minutes.

At least Mike is somewhat back to normal...

**00000000000000000000**

Once school let's out for the day, I head home and dump my things upon the kitchen table. I quickly finish my Spanish homework, but Trig becomes a bit of a challenge once I reach problem number five on the worksheet. I struggle with it for fifteen minutes before I find the solution.

I'm almost done with my work when I check the clock on the wall. It's nearly five. Charlie will be home soon. And I haven't thought at all about dinner.

I hop up from the table and explore the pantry until I find a package of pasta and the ingredients for making a decent sauce.

Spaghetti it is then.

The kitchen soon fills with the aroma of oregano and simmering tomato sauce. While I'm carefully chopping up the onions, the phone rings a few feet away. I rush over to the sink, running my fingers under the faucet for a second, and quickly dry my hands against my jeans before I answer.

"Yes! You're home!" cheers the unmistakable voice of Jessica. "You're not doing anything important, are you?"

I open my mouth, intending to say that I'm in the middle of making dinner, but she gives me only three nanoseconds to answer before she interprets my lack of a response as proof of my inactivity.

"Good, cause there's like a zillion things that I need help with," she airily announces. "Can you believe it? After all this time, Edward is FINALLY taking the initiative to spend time with me! Just the other day I asked him if he wanted to go to eat at a Tex-Mex place next Saturday, but he said that he couldn't cause it just so happened to be the same day that his second wisdom tooth was going to be pulled. He had his first tooth pulled out over a month ago on the same day as the Winter Holiday Dance, so he couldn't go with me then either. I told him that it was insane that the dentist doesn't just go ahead and remove all four of them at once, but Edward said that the guy is using some new technique where he gets them out one at a time over a period of weeks... Edward must have decided to reschedule the appointment or something just so that he can go to PA with us... Isn't that sweet of him?" she finishes with a dreamy sigh.

"I guess so," I edgily respond. Something about that excuse he used doesn't sound plausible...

"And he even sat with us today!" she happily croons. "This is like...the best day _ever_! Everyone thought I was crazy for trying so hard with him, but look who's crazy now!" she triumphantly giggles. "I can't wait to see Rebecca Travis's face when I tell her how he asked me what time he should meet up with us. She's going to be sooo jealous! Did you know that she told me back in October that I was 'wasting my time' on Edward? Yeah, right! He just needed the time to get used to me first. I can practically guarantee you that he and I will be walking hand-in-hand before springtime!"

She is getting ahead of herself faster than I had anticipated. If I don't say anything, she'll be ordering their wedding invitations before the week is out.

I pull the phone closer to the stove so that I can stir the sauce as I try to gently bring her back down to planet Earth.

"That's nice, but maybe you shouldn't move too quickly, Jessica. He might just want to hang out at first - like friends? He may not be ready for what you have in mind quite yet," I gently hint.

Through the phone, she makes a startled, gasping noise that sounds eerily like a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner.

"You're right! I can't scare him off now when I'm so close!" she croaks. "I need to come up with a plan... So what do you think I should do? That night should I try to be relaxed about it all and only hint at how I feel? Like... maybe giving him lots more attention, complimenting his clothes and stuff? And maybe casually touching him when I can?"

I thought I had explained this to her before - I am not the person she should consult for dating advice. But her last statement doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm concerned that if she attempts her latter plan, she will go from innocently touching the top of his hand to full-on groping him. And I doubt he's ready for that if he's been giving her lame dental appointment excuses as the reason why he can't go out on a date.

"Why don't you just be yourself?" I suggest. "Act the same as you normally would around your friends."

Snorting in derision, she says, "But he's not just anyone, Bella. He might be the future father of my children. I have to make the best impression possible if I'm going to make it happen! If I don't make this opportunity count, he may never be able to do anything with me ever again! He's always so busy! When he doesn't have a doctor's appointment or charity work to do, his dad gives him tons of chores that - like - take all weekend to finish. Once, after I asked if he wanted to come to my house to watch _The O.C._ while my parents were gone for the night, he told me that he couldn't because he was supposed to paint the whole outside of his family's house by the end of the weekend. And guess what? It rained almost the whole time! Can you imagine painting a house in the rain!?"

Honestly, no I can't.

But I choose to keep my mouth shut.

"I don't see how Edward puts up with it!" she continues on. "I bet his brothers and sisters don't work half as hard as he does. One time I asked him why he works so much, and he said that helping Dr. Cullen is his 'moral obligation' since the man took him into his home. But I was like, 'He's your godfather, Edward! Taking care of his godchild is Dr. Cullen's job. That's what he signed up for when he agreed to do it in the first place! You shouldn't have to feel like you need to do so much for him.' But Edward insists that he should do his part to keep the household running. He's so selfless..."

Dr. Cullen is Edward's godfather? Hmm... Something else I didn't know about him.

"Listen, Bella," she squeaks, interrupting my thoughts. "I gotta go. We can talk about this some more tomorrow, OK? Bye!" Then she immediately hangs up.

With a sigh, I set the phone down and turn off the stove. While I drain the pot of spaghetti noodles into a strainer, I hear the front door unlocking. I glance behind me and see Charlie shuffling into the kitchen moments later. His nose is pointed upwards like a hound dog as he sniffs the air.

"Cooking again?" he wonders aloud, sounding faintly surprised. "What is it this time?"

"Spaghetti," I answer.

I had assumed that be would be pleased by my response, but instead his head tilts to the side, appearing confused. "That's good," he hesitantly replies. "It's been a long time since I've had that. But how come it smells so much better now than when I make it? Did they change the recipe?" he asks in bewilderment.

I turn from my chore at the sink and face him. "Dad, what are you talking about? I thought that you only knew how to cook eggs and bacon."

"You're right," he freely admits. "But Spaghetti-Os are easy. You just crack open the can and heat it in the microwave. Even _I_ can do that."

I sigh and sadly shake my head at my father. This is confirmation that Charlie has been living by himself for too long. Spaghetti-Os should only be ingested under extreme circumstances. Like, zombie apocalypses and natural disasters when you've run out of all of your other rations.

"Spaghetti should never be canned, Dad," I explain with an arched brow. "Mine smells better because I'm making _real_ pasta."

His head slightly jerks back as though this information has blown him away. "With the long noodles and everything?" he questions in disbelief.

"Yep," I smile back.

Minutes later, he's happily slurping up strands of noodles while I eat my salad first. The salt shaker that I hid last night is back at the table. Yesterday, after dinner, we entered a lengthy negotiation process concerning the salt shaker's benefits vs its ability to kill him. Eventually we made a deal. The salt stays on the table as long as he uses it only sparingly - no more dumping it out by the spoonful. If he violates the terms of our agreement, I can ban it from the kitchen for a month.

It's dark outside once we finish eating. He wanders into the living room with a full belly, ready to zonk out in front of the TV to watch baseball, basketball, football, or whatever it is he plans on watching tonight. I stay in the kitchen for a while longer and complete my Trig homework. After that, my night is free. I can do what I want.

The only problem is that there isn't much for me to do.

Forks has no nightlife. There's nothing fun or interesting to do here. No museums to explore. No malls with bookstores to peruse. No bowling alleys. No arcades. No place for a teenager to hang out unless you count the Thriftway parking lot after the store is closed. And I don't.

I eventually decide on nestling with a good book that I've read a dozen times while I stretch out on the couch downstairs. Charlie's watching TV while sitting in his beat up recliner that he's owned for almost as long as I've been alive. I know that this has to be true because when I was dusting last week, I saw the imprint of the back of his body permanently indented into the chair. I doubt anyone else in the world could comfortably sit there now.

I'm on the fifth page of my novel when the channel he's watching switches from sports programming to a documentary on the history of some boxer. Disinterested as usual in anything sports related, I dart my eyes back down to my book and read a few pages more.

Soon, however, I find my attention being drawn back to the TV screen as they show photo after photo of the boxer during his life and career. Most of the photos are what you would normally expect to see in a picture from over a hundred years ago. Warm sepia tones, the photos faded around the edges. Strange, old-fashioned hairstyles on the men. Long flowing dresses on the women that looked like it would be torture to wear. Faces were normally expressionless as they awkwardly stood in front of the camera.

I slowly become intrigued by the historical aspect of the man and his career. His name was John L. Sullivan and he is considered to be the first official heavyweight champion in boxing. And apparently he fought with and without boxing gloves, which surprised me because I did not know that there had ever been professional bare knuckle boxing.

They flash his portrait every so often. He's sporting a large mustache that ends in a point - just like a villian from a silent movie who twirls his mustaches as he plots to kidnap some heroine. I guess that was the style back then. Whenever they show the guy standing in group photographs, I spot several men wearing similar facial hair.

But it's the boxing stance he uses in front of the camera that seems the most alien to me. The position he takes is different from what I've seen from modern day boxers. His left arm is stiffly held out while his hand is tightened into a fist. His other arm remains near his chest. It doesn't seem to be the most comfortable position to be in, or even that great of a defensive stance. But I soon notice that he isn't the only guy to utilize the unusual practice. The documentary shows photos of Sullivan's opponents through his career, all in the same stiff position.

Sometime towards the end, I realize that my book lay in my lap untouched for more than an hour. I watched a movie about sports tonight. And I found it kind of interesting.

_Something must be wrong with me_, I immediately conclude. _I should go to bed._

**00000000000000000000**

**February 5, 2005**

It's the day of our group trip to Port Angeles and I'm standing in front of my closet, trying to pick out something to wear. Jessica is scheduled to pick me up at five o'clock. It's already 4:45 and I am still in my gray sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that possess more holes than a wedge of Swiss cheese.

I eventually throw on some blue jeans and chocolate-brown sweater. My warmest jacket I wear as well. Then I fumble my way down the stairs and scribble a note to Charlie since he's out of the house right now - reminding him where I will be and that there are sandwiches in the fridge.

During the past week, one of us had to cancel going to the movies. Eric's fun D&D convention turned out to be not so great once his mom discovered that he had sneaked off to Seattle instead of staying at a friend's house. He was grounded for two weeks.

Meanwhile, Edward stayed true to his word, never lapsing back to the "cold one" from the day after the accident. When we passed each other in between classes, he always smiled and called out a polite hello. Also, he continued to sit with us at lunch nearly every day. Out of six days, he only sat with his family twice. Jessica was thrilled. Beyond thrilled really. Mike wasn't, but at least he never said anything about it. Mike chose to ignore Edward, never speaking to or even acknowledging his presence.

This wasn't as nice as having them forgiving and forgetting their past differences, but it was better than what it was before.

Tyler remained a thorn in my side, sliding up alongside me and bombarding me with more ridiculous ways to "make my life easier". I learned that arguing with him is futile, it only tires you because he really isn't listening to you when he's off in his own little world. My current strategy is to wait it out. He's bound to run out of lame-brain ideas eventually. As long as I give him a firm " no" every so often, I should make it through this difficult time without waking up one day to find him cleaning my room or doing Charlie's laundry.

While I'm straightening up the living room, Jessica honks her car's horn a couple of minutes before five. I rush out of the house and find her beaming face in the driver's seat.

"How do I look?" she excitedly asks while I buckle my seatbelt.

I glance at her clothes, noting that they are - you know - just clothes. She has on a pair of beige pants and a fuzzy purple sweater. They look fine to me.

"You look good," I say, hoping she'll accept it as a compliment.

She doesn't.

"_Good_?" she irritably snaps. "I need more than that! I need _details_, Bella. Do I look gorgeous? Hot? Ugly? I need more of a description than just 'good'. _Good_ isn't good enough tonight!"

I heave out a sigh. I'm not "g_ood" _at critiquing clothes...

"You look..._really good_?" I tentatively state, wincing my face.

She disappointedly stares back for fifteen seconds, probably just now realizing that I am clueless about nearly all the stereotypical girlie things like clothes, boys, and hair accessories. She would probably be better off if she just asked a Magic 8 Ball if she looked OK. At any rate, it would be more accurate than I could ever hope to be.

"If that's all that you can say, then I must look like a cow," she declares a few moments later. She's examining herself in the rearview mirror, her lips turned down into a frown as she adjusts her sweater. "I gotta go back home and change."

Oh, god, no... I know her type. If she swings by her house now, she'll try on every item in her closet until she finds the "perfect" outfit. We won't make it to Port Angeles until the movie is almost over if she does that. And I kinda have my heart set on getting out of Forks for a few hours...

Determinedly, I rummage through my brain for adjectives that will make her happy and allow us to continue on our way.

"No, Jess," I fumble in desperation. "You can't do that because you look... _fantastic_. Beautiful even. That purple sweater really brings out your eyes." I've heard people use this phrase on TV. I figure that it has to be a good thing to say to someone...

In response, she animatedly grins. "It's from that department store in PA. I bought it on sale! It's great, right?!"

I give a tight-lipped smile and nod my head. As long as she gets this car moving out of town, she can describe the entire shopping trip.

Minutes later, we pull up in front of Angela's two-story house. Tonka Trucks, plastic baseball bats, and bicycles are strewn across the front yard. Jessica taps on the car's horn as soon as she parks at the curb. When no one makes an appearance at the front door, she forcefully smacks down on the horn, its sound sharp and deafening. An elderly lady with a bouffant hairdo next door peeks out her living room window, giving us a disapproving scowl for disturbing her peace.

But there's still no sign of Angela.

Jessica and I walk up to the house and she impatiently bangs on the front door. A dark-haired little boy wearing Batman PJ bottoms with no shirt opens the door. He doesn't look much over six years old. Clutched at his chest is a Nerf gun, loaded with its harmless "ammo". On the boy's head is a tiny pair of Fruit Of The Loom underwear that he wears as if it were a hat.

And he's looking at Jessica and me as if _we_ are the strange ones.

His Kool-Aid stained mouth is parted open while he dazedly stares at us in the same unnerving way that many small children seem to instinctively know how to do - with wide, unblinking eyes that make you feel as though he will be murmuring "redrum" at any moment.

"Where's your sister?" asks Jessica, sounding unconcerned by the unusual situation. I guess she has spent so much time at Angela's house that she is now immune to seeing a boy with cotton briefs on his head.

The boy places his index finger at his lips, silently shushing us with suddenly solemn eyes. He takes a look behind him, then checks his left and right before he answers. "She's with Mommy," he whispers.

"Well, go tell her that it's time to go," Jessica replies, using her normal speaking voice.

Irked by her loud tone, the boy flashes his eyes at her. "Shh!" he hisses. "He'll hear you!"

"Who?" I softly ask.

He stares back seriously and whispers, "Josh."

Jessica breathes out an annoyed sigh and passes around the boy. "We don't have time for this, Isaac," she huffs. She walks into the foyer and takes a peek into the living room, noting that no one is there. "Is she upstairs?" she asks, heading towards the staircase.

He nods his head up and down. "Yeah, but you don't wanna go up there. Mommy's stick in bed," he replies, his voice still low.

She stops in her tracks, appearing confused by his statement. "Stick? What does that mean?" she questions with furrowed brows.

"You know... _Stick_," Isaac emphasizes. "Her skin's hot and she 'fwowed up."

A light bulb turns on inside of my head. I realize now what he's trying to say.

"His mom's sick," I sympathetically announce.

Jessica takes a comically gigantic step backwards, distancing herself from the stairs and from the possibility of catching whatever illness Mrs. Weber has contracted. She remains quiet for several seconds before she digs into her purse and pulls out a small Snickers candy bar. Bending down in front of Isaac, she tries to sweetly smile at him but it looks more like she's constipated.

Dangling the chocolate bar in front of his face like bait, she saccharinely chirps, "If you go upstairs and bring your sister down here, I'll give you this whole thing."

His little face lights up and he snatches it from her fingers before she can blink. "OK!" he energetically agrees as he zooms up the staircase.

With a satisfied smirk, Jessica rises up from her crouched position and snorts a laugh. "Kids are so predictable. You pull out the candy and they'd do anything you ask them to. I could've told the brat to bring me Mrs. Weber's wallet and he would have done it! Can you believe how dumb that is? It's like their brains don't-" Her boasts are shut off by a barrage of Nerf bullets hitting the back of her head, thumping into her scalp and making her scream.

Jumping up from his hiding spot behind the living room's curtains is another boy who looks identical to Isaac, except this little guy has a metal pot on his head and is pointing his Nerf gun at Jessica.

"Stop it you little creep!" Jessica errupts in anger while she uses a couch cushion as a shield.

"I can't! I saw you talking with my enemy, so that makes you my enemy too!" the boy giggles.

"I'm not your enemy! All I did was ask Isaac where your sister is!" she screeches.

He stops firing and seems to contemplate what she said. "Do you surrender?" he asks playfully.

"Josh!" reproachfully admonishes Angela while she navigates down the stairs. "Stop that right now. What have we told you about shooting at guests?"

Josh's mouth puckers out, trembling and remorseful in record time. I see that Angela is great at inciting guilt trips when the occasion called for it.

"That I shouldn't do it," he replies dejectedly.

Angela moves into the room, shaking her head at him in disappointment. "And yet here you are doing it. You know better than that. Go to your room right now and stand in time out until I say."

At this harsh punishment, his eyes become teary, but he does not argue. Now sluggishly dragging his gun behind him, he sadly climbs the stairs and drops the pot from his head onto the wood floor.

Throwing her couch cushion shield down, Jessica says, "OK, Ang. You ready to go now?"

"Sorry, but I can't," Angela answers chagrined. "Dad is speaking at a religious conference in Olympia tonight and Mom has a pretty nasty stomach bug. I'm going to have to stay at home tonight and watch the twins."

"No way!" Jessica snaps. "Can't she handle the rug rats for a few hours on her own? Just turn the TV to the Disney channel and they'll stay in one place. She can come and look in on them every now and then."

Angela sadly shakes her head. "She's been stuck in bed all day. She's weak. There's no way that she can watch the twins tonight by herself," Angela informs her.

"Noooo," Jessica pathetically groans, her head slumped back. "Call a babysitter or something! You have to come!"

"I tried all of our usual sitters but no one is available on such short notice," Angela admits. She kindly smiles at Jessica, then adds, "You guys go on ahead and have a good time. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she confirms with a nod. "Even if I decided to go with you guys, I would spend the whole night worrying about what's going on here."

"But you're gonna miss out on so much! History is being made tonight!" Jessica whines, hinting at the soon-to-be presence of a certain boy.

Smiling broadly, Angela places her hand on Jessica's shoulder. "And you can tell me all about it Monday. I'm sure your description of what went on tonight will sound even better than actually being there."

Jessica petulantly huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. "OK. But I still think your mom can handle your brothers tonight. It's just for a little while..."

"I promise I'll come next time," Angela replies using a comforting, motherly tone.

Five minutes later, Jessica is at the wheel of her car, angrily describing how difficult it was to extract Josh's Nerf bullets from her hair and how she will have a nanny for her future children with the bronze-haired boy of her fantasies.

**00000000000000000000**

"He's not coming," she gloomily declares.

We're standing in front of the movie theater, waiting for Mike and Edward to show up. We have only been here for a few minutes, but she has already assumed the worse.

"It's not even the time to meet yet," I reassure. "I'm sure he'll get here soon."

Shaking her bushy curls, she says, "I just have a gut feeling that he decided to back out and didn't tell me."

"He wouldn't do that," I defend. "He asked me yesterday if we were still on for 6:30."

Jessica stopped morosely staring towards the parking lot and whirled around to look at me. "He did? Tell me _everything_!" she trills in delight.

"There isn't much to say. He asked, and I said 'yeah'. That's it."

Although I don't think there's much to interpret from that very brief conversation, Jessica spends two minutes dissecting it at every angle - wanting to know how he looked when he asked and if he made any head or hand gestures that could help in telling her how determined he is to be here tonight.

"I'm telling you, Bella," she airily concludes. "If he shows up tonight, it will be the start of everything! First time we're practically alone together. First time we can talk as long as we want. And maybe even first kiss!"

"I thought that you decided not to push him too hard tonight?" I recall with concern.

Giggling, she waves her hand dismissively. "If things go my way, I won't have to do anything to encourage him. It'll be all _him_, if you know what I mean!"

While she's gushing over the possibility of this actually happening, I see a dark figure in the distance walking down the sidewalk. Although this person is still very far away, I somehow know that it's Edward. Maybe it's the way that he's moving that tips me off - long, confident strides with his hands shoved inside of his pockets. As he comes near us, I watch as the street lamps' light strikes his hair and makes it almost glow. He's wearing all black, it seems. Black leather jacket and black jeans that look as if they were molded to his frame.

As I silently admire him, he catches me watching. A smile forms on my face an instant later and I wave a small "hello" at him. His answering smile makes my stomach twist and flip, which hurts a little but at the same time I kind of like how it makes me feel.

I'm seriously messed up.

"You came!" Jessica giddily yells at his approach.

He stops in front of us, shrugs his shoulders, and relaxedly replies, "Of course."

"And right on time, too," Jessica says while glancing at her watch. "Mike must be, like, _crawling_ from Forks or something. He'd better not make us late!"

I try to keep from sighing at her impatience. "The movie doesn't start until seven. He's got plenty of time to get here," I remind her.

The three of us stand quietly for a few seconds. Then Edward begins looking all around, as if he's searching for something. "Where's Angela?" he questions. "Wasn't she coming with you two?"

Twisting my mouth to the side, I glumly report, "Her dad's out of town and her mom's sick, so she stayed home to help take care of her little brothers."

Edward grimaces a little. "That's too bad."

Jessica shakes her head with a hand at her hip, not even attempting to hide her annoyance at what happened earlier. "Yeah. I told her that the hellions would be fine with just their mom watching them, but she _insisted_ that she needed to stay home. I swear, she thinks _she's_ their mother by the way she acts sometimes," she sharply complains, rolling her eyes.

Edward's back stiffens, his posture no longer in that calm, relaxed state as it had been moments before. He woodenly stares at her for several moments, his jaw slightly clenched. "I think she did the right thing," he replies evenly. "She must love them very much to willingly give up her free time."

Jessica's hardened, irritated expression morphs into something like alarm as she realizes that Edward isn't agreeing with her current attitude. Like switching to a different mask, her scowl is replaced by a faltering, unsure smile. "That's _exactly_ what I was thinking, _too. _She's just so nice to them that she forgets her own needs," Jessica croons up at him, her mood suddenly sympathetic and kind.

Edward looks at her blank-faced for a few beats, his expression unfathomable. Then, closing his eyes, he heaves out a deep sigh. It's the sort of sigh you reserve for truly irritating situations - ones that test the limits of your sanity. I've done a lot of those lately - usually whenever I see Tyler's dopey face heading in my direction.

But seeing Edward looking like that while Jessica swoons may be the funniest thing that I have _ever_ seen.

I want to laugh out loud but I manage to restrain myself, my only problem is that it's much harder to control my smile. I'm sucking my lips inside of my mouth, desperately trying to hide it from them.

Edward's eyes reopen and soon land on me. Slowly, the corner of his lips rise into a lopsided, devilish smirk. "Something wrong with your mouth, Bella?" he pointedly asks, causing Jessica to curiously snap her head my way.

They're both watching me now, though Edward seems especially amused at putting me on the spot like this. What am I supposed to say? That it's hilarious that Jessica is so obsessed with him that she believes she needs to agree to everything he thinks and says? That sure would make for an awkward night...

"Oh, I'm just thirsty, I guess," I claim nervously, chewing my lips.

Jessica shrugs and turns away to search for Mike's SUV. But Edward is still watching me, his hands stuck casually in his black jeans pockets. Seeing him seem so entertained by what he just put me through really ticks me off. My eyes narrow at him, letting him know that what he did wasn't funny.

But he doesn't appear bothered at all. He's grinning. And it's kind of beautiful. His teeth are perfectly straight and white - the kind you might see in a Crest toothpaste commercial.

It's suddenly becoming hard to concentrate.

_Stupid boy with his dazzling smile that makes me almost forget that I'm mad at him..._

"Finally! Did you _push_ your car all the way from home, Mike?" shouts Jessica towards the boy in question.

Mike walks up from behind Edward and glares at her. "I'm five minutes late. Big deal!" he grumpily counters back. He then heads towards me, his face erupting into a beaming grin, making me uncomfortable by his obvious infatuation. "Bella!" he cheers.

"Hi," I respond, trying to smile back.

"You'll never guess what happened at the store this morning, Bella!" he laughingly recounts. He continues walking on towards the ticket booth, making me feel obligated to follow him. "You remember how I told you that you should never wear cotton clothing when you're out hiking the trail? Well, get this! A guy came in wearing a plain white cotton undershirt, a wool pullover, and a windbreaker jacket. I told the guy that if he goes hiking with that undershirt on all of his sweat will absorb into the fabric like a sponge! The dude didn't believe me. I had to pull up the info on our website before he realized that I was right."

"That's...nice that you kept him from making a mistake," I carefully respond once his story is done.

"Yeah," he gloats. "Clothes are real important." He pauses, searchingly smiles down at me, and looks at my chest. "You look great tonight. The brown of your sweater really brings out your eyes," he announces.

Hmm... That's funny. I used that same line on Jessica today.

"Uh. Thanks," I mutter back.

Jessica and Edward stroll up to us and as a group we try to figure out what we should see.

Mike tips his head towards the movie poster. "There's two new movies out."

"I wanna see _that_ one!" exclaims Jessica, indicating one of those lovey-dovey romantic comedies that have little plot but they do usually have lots of scenes with shirtless men and gratuitous cuddling.

Edward warily studies the poster, seeming uncharacteristically anxious. "What's it about?" he guardedly asks.

Jessica purposely licks her lips and turns to answer his question. "It's about a woman who hires a male escort to pretend to be her boyfriend for her sister's wedding. You know, it's got that whole '_there's this really hot guy that's out of my league but he falls in love with me anyway_' kind of vibe that I absolutely _love,_" she breathily hints, batting her eyes and dreamily ogling up at Edward as though she has been recently injected with a cocktail of sedatives.

I guess instead of being "calm and casual" with Edward until he is ready for a relationship, she decided to skip to the "crazed, obsessed stalker" stage...

His Adam's apple apprehensively bobs up and down, alarmed by the turn of events. "I'd like to watch the other one," he rapidly fires back.

Flabbergasted by his choice, she confusedly tears her eyes away from his face to look at the other movie poster. "What? _That_ one?" she confirms while pointing at the wall. "The one about the evil monster that lives in closets, hunts people down, and _murders_ them?"

"Yes," he quickly declares with worried eyes.

I watch him as this is going on and realize that his previous avoidance of our lunch table was likely more than just because of Mike's hostility. It's because of _her _as well. No wonder he would rather watch the monster movie. That romantic comedy is probably scarier if you take in the fact that he will have a lust-filled teenage girl sitting next to him that plans on reenacting what she sees with him. And he doesn't look like he's willing to go along with that plan. I can't let the guy that possibly saved my life go through something like that. After all, I owe him one.

"Me, too," I chime in moments later. I usually avoid horror films as a rule, but I'm willing to make an exception tonight.

Edward and I catch each other's eye, silently communicating with one another. He knows what I'm doing. And I know that he's grateful.

"Great! I didn't want to watch that Rom-Com, anyway," Mike gleefully announces from beside me. He moves and leans in, closing the distance between us until I can smell the tuna fish he must have recently eaten on his breath. He has never been so close to me before, and I don't like it. It feels invasive, making it difficult for me to relax. But he doesn't appear to notice how I am feeling. There's a smile on his face that has turned cocky and simpering, so unlike the friendly grins he used to share with me.

With his mouth inches away from my ear, he slightly lowers his voice. "And if we get scared, we can find a way to distract ourselves from the movie," he adds, his tone dripping with innuendo.

Now I'm terrified, and it doesn't have anything to do with what we watch tonight.

My teeth are attacking my bottom lip, trying to keep from screaming and fleeing in panic. With deliberate care, I slowly step back away from Mike, hoping that he will take the hint that I don't like the smothering.

Edward is running his hand through his hair like crazy, his eyes alternating between looking at Mike and me. "On second thought, maybe Jessica's choice would be better," he announces to the group.

Mike's head snaps in Edward's direction, locking onto his face and narrowing his eyes. It's the first time I've seen Mike pay any attention to Edward all week.

Jessica smiles widely, pleased that Edward inexplicably changed his mind. "That's OK, Edward. We'll watch the horror movie tonight, and you and I can watch _my_ movie _next time_!" she elatedly offers.

A dark, nauseated expression flashes across his face for a split second. I don't think Edward is planning to go along with that idea.

The four of us walk up to the booth to buy our tickets. Mike is in front of me as he asks the girl behind the counter for a ticket for one. He drags out his wallet from his pants, opening a compartment that has a few folded dollar bills, business cards, and one shiny, aluminum wrapped item with the word _Trojan_ printed on the front. When our eyes meet, he gives another simpering smile.

Inside of my mind, I picture a metallic robot frantically waving his arms around while screaming something like, "Danger! Danger Bella Swan!"

I take another giant step backwards, accidentally bumping into Jessica in my haste to put distance between the two of us. Mike is upping his strategy with me it seems, just like Jessica is doing with Edward. I tried to keep her from doing anything too crazy to him - like asking what type of underwear he has on.

But, what about Mike? Was there anyone there to remind him that this is a _friendly_ group outing?

So when it is time for me to buy my ticket and walk inside of the movie theater, I do it with the same enthusiasm I would hold if I were being led to the gallows at dawn. Tonight isn't turning out to be the fun, relaxed evening away from Forks that I had envisioned.

This will be Hell.

However, based on the look on Edward's face right now, at least I'll have company.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N-**

**Next Chapter- Awkward situations. Roaming hands. An ingenious escape. And one question gets an answer.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	8. Stuck In The Middle With You

**Chapter 8- Stuck In The Middle With You**

**February 5, 2005- Port Angeles**

**00000000000000000000**

"I'll take some M&M's, a box of Goobers, some Raisinets, and two boxes of Reese's Pieces," Mike tells the movie theater's concession guy taking his order. "And what's that? _Jujyfruits_? Are they any good?"

The poor concession guy has been running around ragged trying to keep up with Mike's endless questions and demands. Mike has been closely evaluating each item this place has for sale, as though it would be a travesty if he were to miss out on movie theater nachos or Junior Mints.

Just behind me, Jessica has been running her mouth at Edward nonstop ever since we bought our tickets. She dizzyingly switches from subject to subject quicker than my brain can handle. In less than two minutes, I heard her complaining about how ugly the carpet is in the lobby and how she would change it if she owned this place, then there was the conversation about her trip to Boise last spring, the discussion about how her hair refuses to be straightened with a flatiron, and then her blatant hint that a bubblegum-pop concert is heading to Seattle in a few weeks that she was probably hoping he would invite her to.

"I really hate flip-flops," she loudly shares with the boy beside her. While she talks, Edward stands there with his left elbow propped on his other arm's wrist, disgruntedly pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like he has a migraine.

"Who wants to see some crusty old guy walking around with his toes on display? Not me!" Jessica jabbers on obliviously. "Wear some shoes and socks like a normal forty year old, ya know? Then there's those guys that wear black socks and sandals! It's like - _GAG_! Why are you wearing a white shirt and shorts with _black socks_? That's totally tacky, right? And why is it that people say that you shouldn't wear white after Labor Day? It makes no sense! White looks awesome at Christmas! You would have loved the white dress I picked out for the Winter Break Dance, Edward. It was - like - the most _gorgeous_ thing ever. It was white satin with lace on the bodice. Have you ever watched _Desperate Housewives_ before? Once, Edie wore a dress similar to mine when she was out trying to get some guy's attention, but her dress looked a lot sluttier than mine. I normally hate her clothes, though I really do like how Susan dresses on the show. It's - like - half cute, half tease, ya know? Have you ever heard of-"

Mike points towards the back of the concession area where there are slices of pizza and other foods that are kept in a warming machine. "Oh, and I want a corn dog, too. It's made from beef, right?" he asks the guy behind the counter.

The guy stops running around for a second to answer. "I think it's a combination of beef and pork," he pants, nearly breathless while he pulls one out from the warming rack.

"Beef _AND_ pork?" Mike repeats in disgust. "What kind of a place serves corn dogs made from something like that? Doesn't this place know _anything_ about keeping its customers happy? Everybody knows that pure beef hot dogs are the best. Using a meat-filler like pork is cheap. You might as well tell your customers that _'we don't care about you, so here's the crappiest meat on the market that we could find'_. I mean - _come on_! Show us some respect why don't you!"

The guy behind the counter stares back bewildered. He doesn't look any older than me. His mousy brown hair has a cow lick and there's acne all over his face. This is probably his first job. I doubt he has ever seriously contemplated what's inside of a corn dog before. I know I haven't.

"So," the guy hesitantly drawls. "Does that mean you're gonna pass on the corn dog?"

Mike grabs the corn dog from the guy's hand and drops it on his tray. "Nah, I'll still take it - I'm starving," he replies, now sounding blasé. "But I'll need _two_ root beers now since I'll have to wash the cheap taste of the corn dog out of my mouth."

"And you, miss?" the guy tiredly asks me while finishing Mike's order.

"I'd like a small popcorn, please," I uneasily reply, feeling a little embarrassed by what just went on.

The guy is handing me the popcorn when, without asking, Mike snatches it and places the container on his already overcrowded tray. "I'll carry it for you," he breezily announces, shoving a handful of his popcorn into his mouth as he walks away from the counter.

"Thanks, but you don't need to do that," I calmly tell him once we're out of the line. "You've got enough on your tray to worry about."

Chuckling at me, he chews and swallows most of the popcorn in his mouth before speaking. "Are you kidding? I can handle this easy. I workout almost everyday! Can't you tell?"

No.

I haven't really taken much notice of his physique. He isn't overweight or anything, but he doesn't look like a bodybuilder either.

But, of course I don't say that to him.

"Oh. Well, I guess you would probably find yourself exercising a lot since you do so many outdoor activities," I diplomatically state, placating his ego while avoiding his question.

And it works a little too well. Now he's boasting about how he can hike three miles in almost any weather condition and still have enough energy to go home and lift weights until dinnertime. I have the feeling that he'll next be informing me that he can pat his head and rub his tummy at the exact same time.

While Jessica puts in her order at the concession counter, Edward positions himself a couple of feet away from Mike and me, leaning his back against a nearby wall. His arms are crossed at his chest - his eyes watchfully scanning everything around him. And he has nothing in his hands other than his movie ticket.

"Don't you want anything to eat?" I curiously ask Edward, briefly glancing at Mike's crowded tray and then back at him. Mike bought enough food tonight that he could feed half of the movie theater's customers if he felt like it. And he isn't nearly as tall as Edward. I would have thought that Edward would at least be a little hungry.

Saying nothing at first, Edward quietly studies Mike for a few beats. Then, moving his emerald green eyes away from the spikey blonde-haired boy in order to properly address me. "Not really. I don't have much of an appetite at the moment."

Clutching her tray of various items of junk food, Jessica catches what he said and smilingly slides up by his side. "Well, if you change your mind, I've got more than enough here for the both of us. You can have anything you want, Edward, if you - ya know - _get hungry,_" she emphasizes huskily, making her insinuation unmistakable. Grabbing two plastic straws from the dispenser, she coyly shoves them both into her soda cup while giving him a smoldering gaze. Judging by the dreamy expression on her face, she is currently fantasizing about the two of them slurping from the same cup while holding hands. Thank god this place doesn't serve pasta. If they did, she would probably try to entice him into reenacting the spaghetti scene from _Lady And The Tramp_.

Edward watches her less than subtle proposition while remaining surprisingly calm. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm on a diet," he announces politely yet firmly. Then his head snaps away from her as though his eye sockets are on fire.

Soon we follow Mike into the theater showing our horror movie. Without conferring with anyone, he chooses to sit on the very last row. I stand there unmoving in the aisle for a couple of seconds, unexplainably worried. Something in my gut is warning me that I shouldn't sit here. It's telling me that I should insist on sitting somewhere else. _Anywhere else._ But since I can't think of any valid reason for me to be concerned, I say nothing and take a seat next to him.

Moments later, just as Edward is about to sit down on the chair to my left, Mike makes a barely audible, grumbling sound in his chest.

"You don't have to sit here, ya know," he barks roughly at Edward. "You'd probably be more comfortable over _there_." His index finger is pointing to some seats across the room. Seats that are closer to the movie screen. Seats that would be very far away from Mike and me here on the very last row...

That's when it hits me.

This is the row at the movie theater that you take your date to when you want to make out without being easily seen.

And this is where Mike led me.

This is the very same Mike that has been wolfishly grinning at me ever since he showed up tonight.

And when Edward sits somewhere else, Jessica will undoubtedly follow.

Then I will be all alone with Mike Newton...

Where is my pepper spray when I really need it?

But Edward doesn't leave me alone in the wolf's den. Instead, he ignores Mike's suggestion and settles down into the chair beside me - all while grinning at Mike with eyes that don't quite reflect the smile that's on his face. "No thanks, Mike," he sweetly answers. "But I'd much rather stay here with you two. You know, in case you or Bella get _too scared._"

Mike's face reddens like a fire pit while he icily glares back at Edward. Meanwhile, Edward's eyes have narrowed slightly as he and Mike enter into some sort of weird staring match. While I sit here in the middle, I can feel the tension rising by the second. It feels like the sort of standoff you would have seen back during the glory days of the Old West, with two cowboys preparing to duel to the death on a dusty, saloon-filled street while the townsfolk hide.

Unaware of the awkward standoff, Jessica plops down on the seat next to Edward. "Wow, I never realized how considerate of a person you are, Edward. You're always thinking of others," she vacuously sighs.

Her interruption helps end the silent hostility between the two boys. Mike purposely breaks eye contact first, turning his head my way and going back to pretending that Edward doesn't exist. And, without wasting any time, he begins describing to me how he spent this morning reorganizing the sporting goods store's display of insect repellants since mosquito season is just around the corner.

While Mike tells me about life at the store, I can hear Jessica droning on and on, seemingly without pausing for air. Edward doesn't seem to be paying much attention. Whenever I take a glance, he is either bleakly staring upwards as though he is counting the ceiling tiles, or his eyes are squeezed tightly shut like a sinner praying for salvation. I would be laughing right now if it wasn't for the fact that Mike would think I'm insane for giggling during the story of how his great grandpa almost lost his pinkie toe because he forgot to properly insulate his feet before skiing.

At some point, I feel Edward moving around in his seat, his elbow lightly grazing my arm as he does so. I take a peek at him while Mike is yapping and see his right hand digging into his pants pocket. I am immediately intrigued. I have seen him do this a couple of times at school. Once at lunch, and once while he was walking to one of his classes. Both times he thoroughly looked around to ensure that no one was watching before he pulled something out of his pocket and quickly shoved it back in.

I guess he never realized that I had my eye on him the entire time.

But as much as I tried, I never saw what he was attempting to hide. I was always too far away.

I've spent quite a bit of time pondering over what he could be. My guesses have varied from the mundane to the outlandish. I've thought it might be antidepressant medication, a picture of a girlfriend he left behind, fungal cream, cheat sheets for our Trig class. Though nothing I have come up with seems to the correct answer.

However, today is different. I'm right next to him. As long as I make it seem as though I am not paying him any attention, maybe I can finally catch a glimpse of what he has been trying to conceal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a brief flash of light in his hand. It's golden and shines like the sun. Without being able to help myself, my head turns just enough where I can get a better view of the object. I only have a couple of seconds to figure out what it is before he stuffs it back into his pocket.

But I saw it. And it makes no sense.

It is pocket watch.

A gold pocket watch with elaborate designs on its front. It looks elegant. Classy. Something that you would see a gentleman remove from his breast pocket in an old black and white movie.

But why would Edward try to hide it?

"I'm really happy that you made it tonight," Mike says beside me, puncturing my thought bubble.

I reluctantly look towards him, a tight smile on my face. "Oh. Well...yeah. It's been a lot of fun so far," I falteringly claim. Mike doesn't appear to catch the fact that I can't quite look him in the eye as I say this.

His face breaks into a wide, pleased smirk. "We outta do this more often," he suggests as he crams a large handful of candy into his mouth. His face now resembles a hamster who decided to stuff his dinner into his cheek pouch. Noisily chomping, Mike adds, "You know... so we can get to know each other better?"

I stare at him dumbfounded.

Somewhere deep inside of me, my brain is screaming, "Wake up, stupid! He's asking you for a date! Save yourself! Divert! Divert!"

"Oh. Um. Yeah," I stammer nervously. "That does sound nice. It's-umm... so great that I'm getting to know you guys like this. Me and all of my _new friends_ will have to do this again sometime."

Yeah. Sometime far, far into the distant future. Like when hell freezes over. Or at least until I know for certain that I will have lots of people to put between myself and Mike.

"Oh," he mutters, his lips pursing out while he thinks.

The heavy, uneasy sensation in my heart lightens a bit. Maybe he gets it now. Perhaps he finally heard my gentle hinting that I'm not interested in him. I think I've used the "_friend_" word in reference to him nearly every single day for the past two weeks.

I knew that he would eventually catch on.

Bending over to the empty seat to his right, he takes a few slurps from his drink on his tray and smacks his lips loudly. "You're right. Hanging out with friends is great," he nods good-naturedly as he turns back to look at me. Then, that flirtatious smile that I have been dreading to see comes crawling back across his face. "But it's nice to hang out one-on-one sometimes, too, ya know? I thought that maybe we-"

At that very moment, the lights in the theater dim and the movie trailers begin showing on the screen. Mike's words come to an abrupt halt and he bewilderingly looks around as though he forgot where we were.

I take the interruption as evidence that maybe there is somebody up there that watches out for little people like me - some supreme being that gives mercy to people suffering. Or at the very least, the movie projectionist is punctual to a fault. Either way, I am grateful.

I whip my head towards the giant screen and feign interest in the animated movie being advertised. "Oh look. The movie trailers are starting. It's my _favorite_," I whisper in a rush, hoping that he wouldn't have the courage to go on with whatever it was he was planning on asking me.

In my peripheral vision, I see Mike slump down into his seat and hungrily attack his corn dog. Despite his claim at the concession stand earlier, it doesn't appear that he is too concerned over the quality of ingredients or its nutritional value. The corn dog disappears into his mouth in seconds. I've seen crocodiles take more bites of their meal before swallowing.

As my panicked breathing goes back to a normal rate, I soon realize that going to a place that customarily plunges the room into darkness is not the place you want to be if you are trying to have a relaxing and entertaining Saturday night. Directly in front of me, a couple that does not appear much older than high school freshmen pounce and grope each other with wild abandon. The girl and guy have wrapped their arms around each other's necks and suck face with an enthusiasm that I have seldom seen. And I lived with two newlyweds before. However Mom and Phil at least kept their tongues in their mouths when in public.

But what's most annoying is that the young couples' energetic little make out session is blocking my view of the screen. While I am trying to watch the movie trailer, the couple's undulating tongues and constantly moving bodies are keeping me from seeing what Bruce Willis is currently blowing up.

And I paid almost seven bucks for this.

Soon I hear Edward shifting around a little in his chair. I look and see him blankly staring at the teenagers whose arms resemble octopi tentacles haphazardly flailing around. A deep, exasperated sigh escapes from his lips. His head turns to the side and he catches me watching him. My eyebrow rises slightly and I pointedly dart my eyes between the amorous pair and Edward, silently asking if he can believe what's happening right in front of us.

With a sheepish smile, he shakes his head and gives a "_what can ya do?_" shrug of resignation. He doesn't appear thrilled by the situation either, but I guess he's taking it better than I am. He's so tall that he can easily look over their heads. I have to make due with any tiny crack that appears between the young lovers.

By the time the movie begins, I discover that if I shut my right eye and squint a little below the area where their mouths meet, I can get a pretty decent view of the screen. Admittedly, this isn't the most pleasant way to watch a movie, but at least I now can see that this horror flick has one of the most unrealistic plots I have ever seen.

Not much later, I feel my stomach rumbling, demanding food. I wasn't very hungry this afternoon when I made Charlie his food for dinner, but I forced myself to eat a little anyway. Now I'm ravenous. And I know that the bucket of popcorn I bought earlier still sits on Mike's tray. I decide that now is a good time to ask for it back.

I reopen my right eye and blink a few times, my vision temporarily blurry from not using both of my eyes for so long. It takes me a few moments to fully regain my sight. But when I do, I notice a strange development playing out next to me and all thoughts of food evaporate.

Mike seems closer to me now than he did earlier.

I keep my head aimed towards the screen, but my eyes are now secretly monitoring the situation. While I watch, I see Mike creeping towards my seat - as if he thinks I won't notice as long as he goes glacially slow. Even his hand, which once rested peacefully on our shared armrest, is inching its way towards my right hand with seeming determination.

Now, I have been through plenty of unpleasant experiences in my life. Broken bones. Sprained ankles. Bloody noses that left me a fainting mess. Once at a concert, I had hundreds of people taking photos of myself after I tripped and butt-slid down the stairs of the stadium. I could barely sit down for days afterwards.

But I would give nearly anything to go through those things again if it meant that I wouldn't have to deal with Mike right now.

My options are limited. I can either admit to him that the thought of his grubby hands on any part of my body makes me want to vomit - thereby embarrassing the both of us and hurting his feelings. Or I can slap him until he slinks back to his own seat - thereby embarrassing the both of us and creating a scene for everyone in the vicinity to enjoy.

Or...

I can retreat as far away from him as humanly possible. I can scoot over as much as I can, sit tensely straight in my seat, and wrap my arms around myself in order to make any hand holding an impossibility. Maybe he will even notice from my stiff body language that he is making me uncomfortable. Plus, this strategy has the added benefit of being non-confrontational.

So this is what I choose to go with. If it turns out to be the wrong choice, I'll review my options again.

Immediately, I try to make my body as small as possible, pushing my legs together and binding my arms around my middle section in hopes of creating a couple of more inches to distance myself from him.

Soon thereafter, he halts in his movements, his hand no longer crawling after mine and his body unmoving. I take a tiny, relieved breath, thankful that he appears to have given up pursuit.

But my relief is short lived.

His arm is currently on the move in a different direction, slowly traveling up the armrest. At first, his new approach stumps me. Why would he still be moving around?

It isn't until his hand reaches the place where the armrest meets the back of our chairs does it dawn on me what his new plan is.

He is trying to sneak his arm around me.

I'm surprised that he didn't just use the old "yawn and stretch" technique used by countless young males throughout modern history.

Now that I know what his new plan entails, I gradually lean forward in my seat, trying to escape his steadily approaching arm as it slides across the back of my chair.

Paranoia and troubling new questions soon fill my thoughts.

_Where is his hand right now and what are its intentions?_

_Is it at any moment going to appear on my shoulder and make me scream louder than the actress that just died on the movie screen?_

_Is it OK to yell "Fire" inside of a crowded movie theater as long as it's for purposes of self-preservation?_

While I contemplate these questions, I hear Jessica's voice. I take a quick peek to my left and find that she has buried her face into Edward's chest, murmuring to him how "_scared_" she is of the monster on the movie. However, the beaming, satisfied smile on her face makes me highly doubtful of her claim.

On his part, Edward is sitting rigidly as he tries to gently push her back to her chair. Though it looks like he is trying to be understanding about the whole thing, the grimace on his face tells me that he is miserable.

Looks like I'm not the only one getting unwanted attention tonight...

As I watch what's going on with Edward and Jessica, Mike's roving arm continues on its quest. In retaliation, I lean forward even more - soon bending so much that my face is now directly behind the kissing couple in front of us. I'm so close that I can practically smell the pheromones coming off of them. If one of them would detach their lips from their partner for a second, they would see a terrified brunette inching her way towards them. I'm practically sitting with them now. In fact, I kind of wish that I was. Sitting with them has to be better than what I have been going through tonight.

_Buzz_... _Buzz_...

My head jerks from the sound coming from my left. In seconds, Edward pulls out a small cell phone from his pocket, flipping it open and placing it by his ear.

"Yes?" he softly mutters. His back stiffens a little and his eyes dart over to look at me. "Yes, Bella's here," he whispers a little louder than before.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion.

_Huh_? Who would be calling _me_ on Edward's phone?

Almost unconsciously, I assume a more natural position in my seat as I watch and eavesdrop on his end of the conversation.

As if he is in shock at what he is being told, his mouth drops open a little and his eyes widen. "I see... That's terrible!" he proclaims. He pauses for several seconds. "Yes, I can do it. It's no problem." While he listens to the person on the other end, he begins vigorously nodding his head up and down as the call comes to a close. "Thank you. I'll tell her right away. Goodbye."

He deftly flicks his phone shut and shoves it back into his pocket. Looking up, he sees that I'm watching him and leans in a little to talk to me. A heavenly scent invades my nostrils, something warm and spicy. And, despite the darkness of the room, his eyes are somehow just as striking as ever. Dazzling and deeply probing as they stare into mine.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Bella," he reveals with a sorrowful yet soothing voice. "Your Aunt Beatrice has taken sick and was sent to the hospital."

I blink back at him for several seconds, wondering what the heck he's talking about.

I don't have an Aunt Beatrice. I don't have an "_Aunt_" anything. Through years of untimely deaths and very few children to take their place, my immediate family has been reduced to just myself, Charlie, Mom, Phil, and a few second cousins that are scattered around the country which I have never met.

But Edward keeps staring at me, his head dipping down a little as his gaze intensifies. He doesn't say another word, but it's as if his eyes are speaking to me. As if he is trying to convey something important without having to say anything in front of-

My eyes fly wide open with a startled gasp.

He made Aunt Beatrice up.

Edward is attempting to utilize the greatest excuse in order to escape from virtually any lame date or boring party that you may be sucked into. It's the well-known but still useful "_my relative is sick or dead and I gotta go be with my family during this difficult time_" excuse.

Edward Masen may be more brilliant than I previously gave him credit for.

"Oh?" I stutter out, trying my hardest to sound distraught by the news. "_Oh no._ Not Aunt Beatrice!"

I briefly wonder if I should be crying. That would help boost our credibility. But I shouldn't push it, I guess. I'm not that good of an actress.

"I'm afraid so," he somberly nods. "Your family has been trying to find a way to contact you. They called my house and told my family that they want you to come home as soon as possible. I offered to take you, if you don't mind."

Wow. He's very convincing. For a split second, I begin to worry that maybe I really do have an Aunt Beatrice at the hospital.

I grab my jacket off the back of my seat and shove my arms into the sleeves. "That sounds fine. Thank you," I confirm.

While Edward stands up, I notice that Mike's arms are back where they belong - placed rigidly across his own chest. His eyes are searing with hatred as he glares at the bronze-haired boy currently waiting to escape with me.

"This sucks!" Jessica whines while reaching for her coat. "And just when the movie was getting exciting, too!"

I briefly freeze in place. If Jessica tags along with us, she'll find out that Edward and I are lying. And how will we politely explain to her that Edward and I are tired of being hit on tonight?

"Yes, yes, it's quite unfortunate, isn't it?" Edward muses aloud, his voice sounding remarkably calm in the face of impending disaster. "But, please, you and Mike _stay_ and enjoy the rest of the movie. I'm sure Aunt Beatrice wouldn't want _everyone_ to miss out on the fun tonight." He pauses for a moment, takes another pointed look at me, and adds, "Come on Bella."

I jump up from my seat and shuffle down the row, trying to keep my pace normal as to not arouse suspicion. In my haste to get out of here, I don't even stop to tell Mike or Jessica goodbye. By the time I hit the aisle, Edward is already waiting and we swiftly flee the room.

Once we reach the lobby, I take a fearful glance behind me. I have a disturbing hunch that Mike will try to follow us and ask me for that date before I can leave. And that's one plotline far more horrifying than that stupid monster movie that we were watching tonight.

"Do you think it's safe to make a run for it now?" I ask Edward under my breath.

Edward's eyes are darting back and forth, silently scanning our surroundings for danger just as thoroughly as any Secret Service agent protecting the President.

"Not yet. Too many witnesses," he mutters, barely moving his lips.

As soon as we throw open the doors to the outside world, the night air seeps through my clothes and chills me to the bone. I ordinarily hate going from a warm, heated room to the freezing cold - I'm not used to the drastic change in temperature. But tonight I have a different opinion. Dealing with subarctic temperatures for a little while sounds a lot more doable than spending the remainder of my night snuggling with a boy that swallows corn dogs whole.

Edward catches my eye and points down the street. "My car's this way. _Now_ we can run," he stresses seriously.

I walk faster but don't actually break out into a sprint - I would probably trip if I tried anything that required that kind of coordination. Edward doesn't run either. He stays by my side as we make our escape down the lamp lit sidewalk.

Now that we are putting distance between ourselves and our admirers, I can't help but laugh a little at how ridiculous this is. All I wanted was a night away from Forks where I would not dwell so often on how homesick I am or how much I miss my mom.

I guess I got what I wished for.

Between Mike's flirting and roaming hands, Jessica's failed attempts to capture Edward's heart, and Edward's strategy for our escape, I forgot all about my problems for a little while.

"Thank goodness that you brought your own car," I giggle as we jog. "I don't know how much longer I could have taken that."

Edward let's out a deep, despairing sigh. "I feel the same way. No one felt the need to inform us that we were on a _double date_," he dryly emphasizes, his nose crinkled in revulsion.

I laugh again - but louder this time, and with more genuine amusement than I have had in weeks. It feels good.

As we approach his parked car, I get my first good look at it. I already knew that it was probably new based on the few times I saw it in the student parking lot. I glimpse its auto maker and I try not to hyperventilate. It's a Volvo, foreign and expensive - though it's not flashy like the cherry red sports car his sister Rosalie drives around in. Edward's car is simpler in design - tasteful but subdued. The shiny silver paint job is flawless, as if he buffs and polishes it every day.

While I'm standing in awe of his car, he pulls out his keys and opens the passenger side door. Trying to hide my nervousness at being around such an expensive car, I duck down and slide onto the seat. It's even nicer inside than outside. Everything is in pristine condition. The gray leather seat is supple and comfortable. The dashboard is free of holes, rips, and stains from fast food's past. There's even a state of the art sound system built into the front.

Seeing his car up close like this makes my rusting, dent-filled truck feel even more dilapidated and ancient. I feel so out of place now. I'm scared out of my mind that I will accidentally break, scratch, or tear something. I may be extremely careful about other people's property, but I do suffer from a debilitating form of klutziness. I might hit my head on the roof and break the overhead light. Or I could bend over, smack my forehead into the dash, and trigger the car's airbag system. There's no telling what havoc my bad luck could do.

Once I move my legs inside of the car, I reach out to close my door. But before my fingertips can wrap around the handle, the door swings shut seemingly on its own. Startled, I look up and see a hint of a smile on Edward's face as he strolls towards the driver's side of the vehicle.

Seconds later, he slips inside and revs the engine to life. In no time he's backing out of the space and driving to where the parking lot connects to the nearby street. I sit stiffly upright with my hands placed in my lap, hoping that my clumsiness will hold off until we make it back home. Having to spend the next five years paying for the damages I might inflict upon his car is not a future that I wish to endure if I can help it.

Edward makes a coughing sound in the back of his throat, clearing it and simultaneously grabbing my attention. His hands are tightly griping the steering wheel, his eyes trained on my face. With the tip of his tongue, he lightly wets his lips. "Are you hungry?" he gradually asks.

I'm starving. And the thought of going home and cooking anything after what I've been through doesn't sound particularly appealing.

I let loose a gush of air, trying to relax a little. "Umm... Kind of. Mike put all the food too far away for me to reach. I didn't want to reach over him just to grab a handful of popcorn and give him the wrong idea," I reluctantly admit.

Edward puckers his mouth a tiny bit, musing over what I said while he nods. Tilting his head as though an idea has occurred to him, he leans back in his seat before he speaks. "There's a little café a couple of streets over. We could grab something to eat before we make the drive home?" He says this last bit like a question, giving me the option to accept or reject his proposal.

And I want to accept.

I'm hungry and not that anxious to get home right now. Charlie would ask me questions about why I'm back so early, and I'm not ready to testify at his murder trial if he finds out what Mike was trying to do to his daughter tonight.

But what will Jessica say if she were to find out that I spent time with Edward alone? She might get jealous.

Of course, it isn't like it's a date or anything. Edward and I are just friends. He hasn't flirted with me or said anything inappropriate. I mean, it won't be much different from when we eat together at lunch. I'm sure Jessica would understand that.

And I guess it doesn't hurt that if we're alone, I can maybe find out more information about him.

He's still waiting for my answer, quietly staring at me as the seconds tick by. With a smile spreading across my face, I nod in agreement. "That sounds perfect."

The left side of his mouth curls up into an answering, crooked smile as he guns his car out onto the quiet street. By reflex, my hands shoot out to steady myself from the unexpected movement. He isn't going over the speed limit, but I guess the fact that his vehicle can go from zero to fifty much faster than the two minutes it takes my old truck to get going is further proof that I am out of my element here.

Edward drives silently while I sightsee, the quiet a welcome relief after listening to Mike and Jessica all evening long. Port Angeles is pretty small - around twenty thousand souls call this place home. But it has far more to offer than Forks. This town has restaurants, boutiques, multiple grocery stores, office buildings, department stores, and even fast food joints. After spending more than two weeks in a hamlet that wouldn't know a Quarter Pounder from a Whopper, my stimuli deprived brain is absorbing all of the sights hungrily.

_Civilization_.

It's good to be back.

It isn't long before we're in the downtown area and Edward is parallel parking a few spaces away from a moss-covered brick building. A sign out front has "_Milling Grounds Café_" written in a fancy, antiqued font.

I begin worrying about the place he brought us. Based upon his taste in designer clothes and luxurious automobiles, his choice in restaurants is most likely more sophisticated than what I'm used to. And expensive, too. I'm sure it's the kind of place where I would need to take out a loan or sell a kidney in order to purchase anything more filling than a bread stick and a glass of water.

Once I see that he is getting out on the driver's side, I try to push away my anxiety before he notices. Following his lead, I climb out onto the sidewalk and wait for him on my side of the car.

He adjusts his black leather jacket and slams his door shut. One of his hands are thrust into his pants pocket as he rounds the front of his car - posed like a male model in a car advertisement. He then joins me on the sidewalk, his free hand raking through his hair. I catch a brief glimpse of green eyes looking at me through dark lashes, a nearby street light giving his irises a fiery, warm effect that burns right through me.

The painfully familiar tingling in my stomach reemerges as I stand here watching him. He may be just a friend, but I can't deny that looking at him makes my stomach and accompanying organs flip, twist, and flop out of my control. I put this phenomena down to the undisputable fact that he is pretty easy on the eyes. I'm sure one day I'll get used to it. One day we will be able to laugh and joke and talk without me suddenly dazedly staring at him like a zombie. One day - I'm sure - his good looks won't give me any reaction at all.

But right now, I am screwed.

"Ready?" he asks moments later.

I want to respond, but I'm too concerned that I will either stammer like a fool or huskily rasp out my answer like a phone sex operator. So, instead I keep it to a brief, silent head nod as I feign interest in the business across the street that sells neck braces, adult diapers, and wart remover pads that are currently on sale.

_Look at that. You can get two boxes for five dollars..._

Once we reach the café, Edward reaches out and pulls open the polished wooden door for us. He stands unmoving and waits for me to walk inside before he follows behind me. I take a deep breath, walk a few steps inside, and then become paralyzed.

This place is _nothing_ like I expected it to be.

There's no snooty waiter at the front taking reservations. There's no pure gold light fixtures or Oriental rugs decorating the room. There's no tables laden with ornate fine China. No fur draped women or tuxedo wearing men eating six course meals.

Instead, what I see is almost the exact opposite of what I imagined.

The tables are bare - beat up with tiny scrapes and imperfections marring the surface. Most of the chairs don't match and are often colored differently from their partner. There's no waiters in crisply-pressed uniforms running around here either. All this place has is a woman reading from a People magazine while sitting behind a large display counter. Behind the glass of the counter are dozens of baked goods - cakes, pies, cookies, tarts, and every other treat you could possibly think up. The wooden floor of this place is scuffed and plain, looking more like something you would have seen in an old-fashioned general store than a café in the twenty-first century.

But what's most surprising are the walls of this place. They're covered in folk art and memorabilia. Posters from World War II. Old advertising signs from products no longer in production. Pictures from local sawmills that shut down decades ago. Yellowed newspaper articles detailing events from the town's past. Rusting tools and old fishing poles hang from the rafters, their original owners probably long dead and buried.

This place is unique. Nostalgic but with a modern twist. To me it looks on par with that coffee shop on _Friends_ \- quirky and fun. It exudes a certain charm that would be impossible to pinpoint. It's comfortable. Relaxed. The type of place where you wouldn't need to go into debt if you bought more than one item.

But I never would have guessed that Edward would hang around in a place such as this. Although this café is undoubtedly interesting, it's kind of shabby looking, too. He always seems so polished and refined. So well put together. It's hard to believe that he would ever willingly set foot in a place that sells lattes in a paper cup. I had always imagined him at a classy place where some guy is playing a grand piano with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling...

"What's wrong?" Edward whispers behind me, interrupting my reverie.

I twist my body and discover that he is keenly studying me, his eyes worried and his brows pinched together. I guess since I've been awkwardly standing here, stunned into silence with mouth gaping open for an extended period of time, my behavior has made him concerned about my sanity.

"Nothing," I claim, nervously chewing my bottom lip.

He says not a word for several beats, his eyes becoming sharp and observant as he watches. "We can go somewhere else if you like," he softly suggests.

My eyes enlarge as I realize what my reaction must have looked like from his point of view. I stood there frozen near the entrance like an idiot, dumbly gawking at everything instead of just continuing to walk inside like I should have done. He must think that I _hate_ this place.

"_No_!" I quickly yelp, panicked by the thought that we would leave and head straight back home.

Edward's eyebrows ascend nearly to his hairline, surprised by my anxious, half-crazed response. Now he's definitely going to want to skip our meal, race back to Forks, and dump me on my front porch as soon as possible...

I try to relax my breathing and calm myself, hoping that he will overlook my prior outburst. "I mean... this place is _fine_," I reply with a tight-lipped smile.

Edward's attentive, perceptive gaze steadily increases. "What's wrong with it?" he stubbornly presses, arms crossed skeptically across his chest.

"_Nothing_," I tell him again, trying not to roll my eyes.

But he doesn't buy it. His eyes have now locked onto my face, persistently waiting me out until I give up and decide to give him the real answer to his question.

I don't understand how he knows that I'm keeping something from him. I thought that my acting skills had improved a little since our little performance in front of Jessica and Mike, but I guess not...

"_Fine_!" I snap at Edward, giving him a nice glare to show him how much I hate it when someone catches me in a lie. "I was just surprised that you brought us to a place like this. _OK_?"

Leaning his head to the side a bit, he appears to ponder my claim for a few moments before he replies back. "What were you expecting exactly?" he curiously asks.

I throw up my hands, exasperated by his question. "I don't know," I frustratingly heave out.

Ugh! I didn't want to go into specifics. I can barely understand it myself...

My brows furrow, trying to find a way to explain my feelings without making it sound too weird. "I guess I didn't expect for you to bring us to such a trendy looking place," I unwillingly admit.

His head jerks back, appearing astonished by my admittance. He then takes a thorough look around the room, his expression perplexed. "Trendy?" he repeats uncertainly.

I feel myself relax a little. He isn't screaming, crying, or glaring at me. I guess he's taking my answer better than I thought he would...

"Yeah. I never pictured you _being_ in a place like this," I honestly confess, taking another peek at our surroundings.

Lapsing into a musing silence, his eyes stop roaming the room and land back on my face. His confused, puzzled expression gradually gives way to something else entirely. A lopsided grin, the kind that gives him a charming, boyish look, reappears on his face in all its glory.

"_Really_? And where _do_ _you_ picture me then?" he asks with a slight teasing quality to his voice.

My mouth drops open in horror. My face goes up in flames. I basically admitted that I sometimes devote my free time in speculating about his life and personal habits.

I shoved my foot _deep_ inside of my mouth this time...

Seconds go by while I struggle to find a way to explain myself. And all the while, Edward has an amused grin that just won't go away, making me nervous and distracted at the same time.

"I..." I stammer out, unsure how to begin. "Don't know..." Nervously, I take a gulp and try not to look directly at him as I give my confession. "Maybe someplace more... conservative?"

The bright smile on his face instantly vanishes.

One moment it was there, the next it's gone.

Then, before I can assume that I said something wrong or hurtful, a new smile is back in place. A warm, rich chuckle vibrates through his body. "A tea room, perhaps?" he humorously teases, his voice sounding playful and self-deprecating.

With a tiny smile, I nod my head and decide to play along since he's in a good mood. "Yes, that sounds about right. With puffy cushioned chairs, balding butlers carrying silver trays, and elderly spinsters sipping from teacups with Persian cats on their laps."

He bends down slightly, as though he is about to speak confidentially. "Well, I'm afraid that we'll have to make do with this place until some retired British governess decides to move to Port Angeles and open up such an establishment," he purrs with mock sincerity.

"Too bad," I add with a grin. He just smirks a little in response.

I follow along behind him as we walk towards the huge counter across the room. As we get closer, I realize that this place carries even more treats than I had originally thought. And it all looks fresh and delicious. The smell is divine.

I spot what I want almost instantly. There's just something about a brownie that calls to me. Be they plain, frosted with icing, or topped with sprinkles, I almost always go for a brownie before anything else. But the brownies they serve here are perfection. It's the Holy Grail of brownies. It's huge, the square is the size of my hand. The walnuts are evenly distributed throughout the large chunk. I can smell the scent of the rich chocolate from where I stand. And as a finishing touch, caramel sauce has been crisscrossed across its top.

It's love at first sight.

I soon tell the lady what I want while Edward meticulously studies the choices. Eventually he asks for a gigantic cinnamon roll that is drenched in a sugary glaze. I wouldn't be surprised if it surpassed a thousand calories.

So much for that "_diet_" he told Jessica he was on...

"What do you want to drink?" he asks me.

I twist my mouth as I think. Catching the lady's eye, I ask if they serve Coke. She mutely confirms that they do.

"_Two_ cokes, please," Edward orders while I go back to studying the wall decorations.

A muffled thud echoes in the room, distracting me from the newspaper article I was studying. Confused, I look around until I discover Edward bending slightly over the countertop, his hand moving away from a crisp, new twenty dollar bill. It isn't until I see the lady reaching for and thrusting the money into her cash register that it occurs to me what is happening.

_"What are you doing_?" I accusingly ask Edward.

He turns around, a bewildered expression on his face. "Paying for our food?" he replies, sounding puzzled.

His simple answer stumps me. I was planning on buying what I ordered. This was supposed to be a quick, uncomplicated snack before we go back to Forks. Why would he try to pay my bill?

"Why?" I ask aloud.

He gives me a beaming smile before he speaks. "I believe it's customary for patrons to _pay_ for their food, Bella," he replies nonchalantly.

I stare back stonily, not caring for his jokes at the moment. "I'm well aware of that. But you shouldn't pay for mine, too. That's not fair," I explain to him evenly, trying not to get more upset than I already am. The fact that he is buying my food makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel inadequate. Like he thinks I can't afford to pay.

Appearing carefree and untroubled, he casually shrugs his shoulders. "But it's better for the cashier this way. I was simply making the transaction easier for her to handle. Two customers, one transaction. Much simpler for her to deal with."

My eyes narrow further.

I have to amend my earlier assumption of him: Edward Masen is a brilliant boy, but he can also be an irritating smartass.

"That doesn't make any sense and you know it!" I practically growl, keeping my voice low so the cashier lady won't overhear.

Leaning his elbow relaxedly against the counter, Edward sighs - no longer smiling and his face suddenly serious. "Then how about _this_. _You_ are my guest. I asked you if you wanted to get something to eat. You accepted that invitation. Therefore, it is my duty as a host to pay for anything that results from said invitation," he explains matter-of-factly.

While I'm trying to come up with something to combat his logic, he stares back patiently. I really want to tell him that his reasoning is stupid and unnecessary. It's a throwback to bygone days where a gentleman would throw down his cape across the muddy street so a lady would not sully her shoes. And nearly no one does that anymore. Today it's everyone for himself. I pay my way, you pay your way.

However, what he has says feels like something he would truly believe in. He seems like the type of guy that takes etiquette and good manners seriously. He opens doors for others, doesn't chew with his mouth full, and says "please" "thank you" "excuse me" with startling regularity. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt...

But it hurts my pride to go along with him wholeheartedly. So, I come up with a compromise to make myself feel better.

"Fine. But, next time it's on me, Edward. And I mean it, " I insist, sternly looking him in the eye.

That is, _if_ we ever do anything like this again.

"Oh, you're offering to pay for our future meal at the tea shop?" he wryly quips, seamlessly going right back to teasing me. When the lady hands him his change and he stuffs it back into his wallet, I detect a hint of a smirk on his handsome face.

I can see that he thinks I'm joking.

I guess he doesn't know me very well yet.

"Don't tempt me," I mumble crossly under my breath.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N-**

**Next Chapter-**** An impromptu question and answer session. The drive home. Edward makes an offer that Bella can't refuse. And Bella has a revelation.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	9. Getting To Know You

**Chapter 9- Getting To Know You**

**February 5, 2005- Port Angeles**

**00000000000000000000**

Grabbing our food, Edward and I leave the display case and cross the café to find a table. We choose one that is positioned between the corner of the room and a nearby window that overlooks the dark, lonely street. Most of the businesses in downtown Port Angeles are closed for the night, so traffic in the area is extremely light. Only occasionally does a vehicle pass by.

The café is quiet. Other than the barely audible background muzak playing over the sound system, there is very little in the way of noise to take away from the peaceful, harmonious environment. Edward and I practically have the place to ourselves. Not including the cashier, there are only three other customers here - two of whom seem too preoccupied with their reading material to even give us a second glance.

Pulling off my jacket and hanging it on the back of my chair, I sit down on the wooden seat and greedily inhale the scent of the brownie that I am about to consume. It smells wonderful. I haven't eaten anything since earlier today and my stomach is not shy about reminding me. I can't wait to see if it tastes as good as it smells.

Pinching off a small piece, I take a bite and discover that it's even better.

Since I am concentrating on my food, I'm only half aware of what Edward is up to. Vaguely, I see him shrugging off his leather jacket and then place it neatly on the seat of a vacant chair. It isn't until he makes a little noise while pulling out his chair do I reluctantly look up from my brownie, my fingers already preparing to place yet another delicious bite inside of my mouth. However, once I get a good look at what he has had on underneath that jacket all evening long, all thoughts of my brownie disappears.

He has on a green turtleneck that is distractingly form fitting.

It looks nice on him._ Too nice_. It sticks to him, highlighting a surprising amount of muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest that I never noticed before. Then there's the color. It's nearly the same shade as his eyes. Somehow, his shirt makes his eyes appear even more green and hypnotic than they usually are - which if someone had told me before tonight that this was even possible, I would have called them a big fat liar.

This development leaves me stunned - and a little suspicious. Is he doing this to me on purpose? Did he intentionally decide to mess with my head by wearing a shirt which not only clings to his body like a second skin, but also just happens to perfectly match his eye color? And if so, why?

Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he is completely unaware of the affect this is having on me right now. It _is_ possible that he has absolutely no idea that my heart temporarily stopped beating once I got a good look at him. Even GQ cover models may not understand how attractive they are to us mortals, I guess.

Tearing my attention away from him, I drop my eyes back down to my food and try to concentrate on something other than what he is wearing. If I'm not careful, I might spend the remainder of my night ogling at him. And friends shouldn't stare at their male friends like that. It's rude. And not to mention pretty damn creepy. I don't want Edward to ever look at me with the same sort of dread that appears on his face whenever Jessica comes to talk to him.

As I try to recall how to eat, I shove the small morsel of brownie that I've been holding on to for the past fifteen seconds inside of my mouth. It still tastes good, but the butterflies flapping around in my stomach are keeping me from enjoying it as much as before. In fact, I'm practically running on autopilot now.

_Pinch off bite-sized piece of brownie._

_Gently place in mouth._

_Do not look at boy sitting across the table._

_Try to enjoy the chocolaty sweet flavor._

_Chew a few times._

_Swallow._

_Continue to not look at boy across the table._

_Repeat._

As I attempt to distract myself with my food, Edward hasn't said a word for the past few minutes. I assume he is enjoying his food, but I haven't had to courage to look. It is not until my brownie is around one-thirds gone does the silence at our table end.

"Why did you choose that?" he abruptly asks, forcing me to acknowledge his presence once again.

I hesitantly look over at him, noting that his eyes are alternately glancing between my face and the partly devoured brownie laying in front of me. His fingers are absentmindedly tearing apart the humongous cinnamon roll he bought, sending its spicy scent into the air while he waits for me to speak.

Swallowing the remnants of my last bite, I frown a little, feeling confused by his odd question. "What? The brownie?" I ask, keeping my eyes centered on his face.

When he nods, his eyes partially shut. "Uh, huh," he relaxedly confirms.

While he casually tosses a piece of cinnamon roll into his mouth, my brain is struggling to come up with an answer. I have no idea what to say. It's just a brownie.

Eventually, I decide to answer with the obvious - at least it is to me.

"Cause brownies always taste good?" I awkwardly reply, my face slightly scrunched together.

Edward cocks up his brow skeptically, as though my answer is the lamest thing he has ever heard.

His reaction ticks me off a little bit. It took me whole seconds to come up with it. I'm not sure what kind of a response he expected. Did he really think that my answer was going to be even remotely interesting?

Using my irritation to regain my confidence back, I straighten my posture and make sure to look him dead in the eye. "Why does it matter?" I counter, arching my eyebrow right back at him.

His head tilts to the side as he thinks, his lips slightly pursed. Gradually, he leans forward in his chair, his left elbow placed on the table while he contemplatively rests his chin in his hand.

"It's just that I have a little theory," he replies with a half smile. "When faced with a choice, I believe that people will choose what is most meaningful or familiar to them _most_ of the time. I'm curious as to why you would choose _that_ brownie over everything else."

I am on the verge of rolling my eyes at his "little theory" and laughing at the absurdity of the question. Sometimes the decision you make is based upon how good something tastes - like I said before. No deep significance is required.

Yet, right when I am about to vocally scoff at what he has asked me, a distant memory jolts me into silence.

Since Mom has never been the best cook (to put it mildly), we were usually limited to heating up TV dinners and cans of Chef Boyardee for our meals at home. We both grew to hate living that way, but it was either eating crappy dinners made in a factory a thousand miles away, or risk dying from food poisoning from the home-cooked meal Mom would occasionally attempt to make in our kitchen. This is no exaggeration. One time I caught her trying to gauge our Thanksgiving turkey's temperature with a regular thermometer, the same type most people have in their medicine cabinet. Since the turkey didn't have a mouth anymore (obviously), she stuck the thermometer in its neck cavity. I still shudder to think what could have happened to us if I hadn't discovered her mistake. Spending Thanksgiving at the ER would not have been a pleasant way to celebrate the holiday season.

Once when I was younger, Mom and I travelled to our local grocery store - the one we often shopped at back then. As we pushed our cart full of tin cans and frozen meals down an aisle, we passed by a display of boxes that showed pictures of cakes and easy to bake pies. My attention became riveted on each box which promised that with just a couple of ingredients and the proper cooking time in the oven, even _you_ could make something delicious. I swiped a box down at random from the shelf and thrust it Mom, begging her to allow me to experiment with it. She was uncertain at first since I had only recently begun using the stove to reheat things, usually Campbell's soup or take-out food. But after I put enough emphasis on my "please", she agreed to let me try as long as she could supervise.

Back home that evening, I didn't waste any time. I went straight into the kitchen and began following the instructions on the box. Once it was finished cooking around an hour later, Mom and I tried my very first attempt at baking. The proud smile she gave me after that first bite of the simple brownie I made is something that I'll always remember.

After that day, I took over kitchen duties. Over the course of a couple of years, I progressed from making easy to cook dinners of Hamburger Helper to making complete meals from scratch. Our dependence on Lean Cuisine and Stouffer's frozen meals became a thing of the past.

But the first thing I ever made must have stuck out in my mind more than I ever realized. Now that I think of it, I almost always choose to go with a brownie over everything else. I never realized the connection before.

So, I guess Edward's theory maybe has some merit after all...

He's still expectantly sitting there, chin resting in his hand, waiting for me to say something. I have an answer - a real answer now - but I'm unsure how it will be interpreted. It probably sounds incredibly boring. He will probably regret asking me anything in the first place once he hears what I say.

"It was the first thing I learned to cook by myself," I confess, suddenly feeling exposed.

"Oh, so you can cook?" he replies, his voice sounding faintly surprised.

"A little," I shyly answer, not wanting him to assume that I'm some sort of world class chef or anything.

Edward leans in a little more, his eyes never leaving my face. "How often?" he questions.

"Nearly every day," I truthfully respond.

Briefly, his eyes flick down at our table as though he is pondering over what I told him. Then, seconds later, they're back on my face - his eyes gleaming in the muted light of the café. "You cook for your father," he states without a hint of hesitation.

"Yeah. I don't know how he survived before I came here," I quickly confirm. Soon, I'm smiling a little while I think of Charlie. Many years of living alone turned him into your classic, stereotypical bachelor. From what I have gathered so far, he really doesn't seem to care what he eats as long as he doesn't have to cook it himself.

My nose crinkles in disgust as I recall the exact way he _did_ live before I moved here.

"TV dinners and the diner, I guess," I mumble, unable to fathom how my dad survived for so long on the slop they serve down at the Forks Diner. Evidently, the cook there believes that gravy makes up a large part of the Food Pyramid.

Pausing for a moment, I start to wonder how Mom is faring now that she doesn't have me to cook for her anymore. Since she is travelling with Phil and his baseball team, I'm sure they have been eating out more than before. She hasn't complained about it during our phone calls or email exchanges. But, then again, she rarely complains about anything. Mom is stuck in a perpetually happy mood.

"I cooked for Mom and Phil, too," I say aloud as an afterthought.

Edward's head lifts up a couple of inches from his hand, his expression confused. "Your mom?" he asks, bewildered.

I nod my head, silently confirming his question.

Appearing uneasy, his brows smash together. "Why did you cook for her and her new husband?"

"Because I like to," I respond, slightly surprised that he even remembered our conversation about my new stepfather from nearly two weeks ago.

"When did you start?" he rapidly fires next.

This question is harder for me to answer. I bite down on my lip as I try to calculate how old I was that day when I first baked that brownie. "Umm. Well..." I hesitantly reply while I think back. "I couldn't touch the stove until I was nine... So, I guess it was when I turned nine."

Edward stares back slack-jawed for several seconds. Then, his mood abruptly changes. The apparent shock slowly disappears from his face. No longer relaxedly leaning forward, he's sitting ramrod straight in his chair. "Why would your _mother_ allow her daughter to cook at nine years old? Why didn't she do the cooking for _you_?" he stresses in a voice laced with outrage.

My eyes harden as my fingers grip down on the table. I can hear the disapproval in his voice, which only serves to anger me more. Mom may not have been able to make a decent meal or balance her checkbook, but she always loved me and provided for our needs. If she couldn't make a batch of cookies for me to bring to my elementary school bake sale, she made sure to purchase the best dozen or so chocolate chip cookies from our local bakery for me to take. She may have had her faults, but being a bad parent was not once of them.

"She let me do it because I _insisted_!" I snap at him with narrowed eyes, not hiding how irritated I am. "It was either I learn to cook or we'd be _both_ eating burnt tuna casserole and fast food for the rest of our lives."

Seemingly stunned, Edward lapses into a ruminative silence. His rigid posture gradually relaxes as his fiery eyes soften back to normal. "She can't cook," he eventually announces in a gentler tone, almost as though he is talking to himself.

Seeing that he understands now, I force myself to stop glaring at him and resume a more natural posture as well. "Not even to save her life," I sigh with a faint smile. "We lived off of frozen TV dinners and fast food burgers until I felt brave enough to try cooking on my own."

"A matter of necessity," he slowly drawls with a faraway look.

"Pretty much," I shrug in confirmation.

While I sip my Coke through my straw, I watch as he starts tearing his cinnamon roll apart with his fingers again. Based on his musing expression, it doesn't look like he's even aware of what he's doing.

A thought occurs to me while I watch him abstractly play with his food. He has asked me several questions since we've been sitting here. Maybe this is my opportunity to ask him a few myself.

"And what about _you_?" I ask him as his eyes dart back to my face. "You can't expect to ask someone a question without having to answer a few yourself - can you?"

With an amused smile, he tips his head. "Fair enough. Ask away," he pleasantly agrees.

I feel giddy with power. I can finally ask him whatever I want. I've been so curious about him, I literally have a list of questions sitting on the desk in my room that have been playing through my mind for days. Too bad I didn't bring it.

I want to ask him what happened to him last summer in the national park. Did he become lost by accident?

I want to ask if he remembers Charlie helping him that day.

I want to ask how badly he was hurt.

I want to ask him if it's normal for him to so easily put helpless teenage girls into dazed trances. And, if there's any chance that he could give me a break and lay off it for a while.

But, of course I can't really ask him any of those questions. They are either too personal for him to answer or to embarrassing for me to admit.

So, I decide instead to use his own curiosity against him for starters.

"Same question first," I smugly smile. "Why did you choose _that_ cinnamon roll over everything else?"

I expected that he would need to think long and hard on what to say, but instead he answers almost immediately. "That's easy," he nonchalantly replies, completely unfazed. "It reminds me of home."

My forehead wrinkles downwards as I try to make sense of what he just said. We've only been gone from home for a couple of hours. And why would he even _want_ to be reminded of Forks anyway?

Picking up on my confusion, Edward patiently hints, "My_ first _home."

My eyes fly open wide, horrified at my stupidity. I _knew_ that he lost his parents and came to live in Forks only last year. Yet here I go forgetting all about it. And, inadvertantly, the first question I pose to him turns out to be the very one that I shouldn't ask.

"_Oh_. I'm sorry," I ruefully apologize, avoiding looking directly at his face and wishing that I had just kept my big mouth shut. "I didn't mean to bring anything like that up."

But Edward fervently shakes his head, not appearing offended at all. "It's OK, Bella. This is a _good_ memory," he reassures me, pointing at his cinnamon roll. "This reminds me of home because Martha (she was our family's cook and housekeeper), she would make these every Sunday for breakfast. I remember waking up smelling the scent of this wafting through the house." He pauses to fondly smile. "It was the best alarm clock. She used to say that the only way I would willingly get out of bed in the morning was when I could detect this scent in the air."

Relieved that his story isn't about his parents, I allow myself to smile along with him. I don't know why, but the fact that he evidently has a problem with waking up in the morning makes him seem more relatable. More human.

"That's nice," I warmly remark. "Does she still make them?"

The grin on Edward's face quickly drops into a frown, the warmth in his eyes fading. His attention darts down to the table where he proceeds to break apart his roll until it is little more than crumbs. Without looking at me, he answers my question. "No. She passed away, too," he softly replies, his tone grim.

My eyes briefly snap shut, wincing guiltily. By habit, my teeth nervously clamp down on my bottom lip. I only asked him _two questions_ and _both_ turn out to be the wrong things to ask. I don't think that I have ever felt so ashamed.

Edward lifts his head back up, appearing somber but still composed. Seeing that all trace of amusement on his face is long gone only makes me feel worse.

"I'm sorry," I falteringly announce, trying to maintain eye contact even though I really don't want to. "I don't seem to be very good at asking questions. I keep asking the worst possible ones."

"I disagree," he says consolingly, firmly shaking his head. "You have asked completely normal, _legitimate_ questions. You couldn't possibly help it that my life became such a disaster."

Edward falls sient, his face nearly expressionless. But I can see in his eyes what he doesn't say in words. I see desolation. And maybe a little loneliness. I don't know his full story, but I think I can safely assume that it hasn't been a happy one for a long while.

"Is it still a disaster?" I ask tentatively.

He says nothing for a short time as he watches me. Then, he weakly heaves out a breath and closes his eyes for a moment before he speaks.

"If you had asked me that question last summer, I would have said '_yes_' without an ounce of doubt," he muses aloud. "But now, it's not quite as painful of a subject as it once was." The anguished look in his eyes gradually disappears as he continues on. "I suppose you could say that my life is in recovery mode," he adds.

His casual mention of "last summer" makes me recall the conversation I had with Jessica my first day here. She mentioned that he moved in with the Cullen family a couple of months before the school year started. So, that would put Edward's near death experience close to his arrival in Forks...

But then I remind myself that Jessica also informed me that she heard that Coach Clapp wears women's undergarments during gym class. Obviously, she isn't the most reliable source of information.

In fact, I can't rely 100% on _any_ of the information she gave me about Edward that day. After all, she _is_ the same girl that lives under the delusion that he is secretly pining for her but he's too shy to admit it.

"Where are you from?" I ask, deciding that it's best to get my information confirmed by Edward himself rather than taking Jessica at her word.

"Chicago," he quickly replies.

Slowly, his mouth curls into a small, knowing smirk. "I'm astonished that no one filled you in on all the Cullen gossip when you first arrived here," he jokes, teasing once again. "I'm _very_ disappointed that you missed out on all the juicy details."

"Oh, but they did," I admit, wanly smiling. "But, I don't put much stock into what people say unless they know what they are talking about. You hear lies and exaggerations more often than the truth... I usually ignore it."

"That's highly commendable of you," he compliments. Lightly wetting his lips, he leans forward a bit in his seat. "Though, just for curiosity's sake, what _did_ they tell you?"

Quickly deciding to be honest with him, I say, "That you were adopted by a doctor and his wife and that you are the newest addition to their family. And, according to Jessica," I continue on, trying to not burst out laughing, "since you are the only single member of the family left, you'll be expected to change that status soon. It's just a matter of time before you give in to your attraction and declare your undying love for her."

Edward's face visibly pales, suddenly looking sick. "I hope that you consider Jessica's statement to be apart of that '_lies and exaggerations_' category that you spoke of earlier," he crossly grumbles with furrowed brows.

I force myself to stop grinning before I respond. It kind of feels nice to be teasing _him_ for a change. "Well, after seeing your face tonight when she was practically begging for you to sweep her off her feet, I realized that any attraction between the two of you was entirely one sided," I lightly comment.

He huffs a laugh as he dips his head in my direction. "I congratulate you on your perceptiveness, Miss Swan," he smirks.

Mildly giggling, I lean forward to take a drink from my cup. Meanwhile, Edward's hand vanishes under the table and he subtly moves around in his chair, evidently going for his pocket watch again. Moments later, he carefully glances down to his lap and begins to move around as though he is about to shove it back into his pocket.

"May I see?" I uncontrollably blurt out before I can stop myself.

He looks up, appearing bewildered. "See what?"

"Your watch," I reply, trying to be brave now since I've already asked anyway.

When driving at night down dark country roads, it's common to see wildlife freeze once your vehicle's headlights hit them. They become paralyzed in place, too overcome by the light to move.

And that's almost exactly what Edward is doing right now. He hasn't moved a muscle since I asked to see his watch. Even his eyes are frozen wide open, unblinking for almost half of a minute. On the movies, this is around the time when you would either throw a glass of water in your friend's face or slap them on the cheek until they snap out of it.

But I don't think Edward would appreciate either one of those ideas. So, instead I choose to go with an alternative approach.

"I've seen you with it a couple of times," I gently press.

Hearing my voice, Edward blinks once or twice, slowly coming back to life. Unhurriedly, almost cautiously, his hand disappears back underneath the table. His eyes stay glued to me as he pulls out the pocket watch and sets it carefully on the table. Pushing it towards me until it reaches the middle, he removes his hand and leaves the watch for me to examine.

It's more beautiful than I imagined. An elaborate design decorates its golden front case, but I can't quite make it out from this distance. Moving my plate out of the way, I drag the watch until it is right in front of me. Now that it is closer, I can study the ivy vine design which adorns it. Each engraved leaf looks incredibly life-like, the lines of the design darker than the gold background. My index finger strokes the etching, amazed at the detail that went into it.

Tearing my attention away from the design, I notice that the watch has a small metal loop at its top. Idly brushing my fingers against it, I wonder what its for until my fingertip hits the tiny knob hiding under it. That's when it hits me that this watch is _a lot_ older than it looks.

This is a wind up. No battery runs this thing. It has to be an antique.

Now I'm _terrified_ that I'll break it.

Why did I have to push him to let me see it? If I keep touching it, I'm sure to do something dumb and destroy it. Like, dropping it on the floor. Or spilling my Coke on its delicate mechanisms.

I should just thank Edward for letting me look at it and push it back to him...

Swiftly, a hand appears over the watch, presses a tiny clasp on its side, and the front case opens up wide - revealing the watch's face. I jump a little in my chair, caught off guard by the sudden movement. My eyes flick up to catch Edward's arm leaving the area. He places it back on his lap and resumes watching me, his eyes calm but guarded.

Looking back down at the object before me, I see that the watch face is plain and simple. Dark black hour and minute hands point at 8 and 18 respectively, its design simple but charming nevertheless. On the inside of the case, I spot something more interesting. _Writing_. Squinting my eyes, I bend down to read it.

"_Time marches on. Don't let it leave you behind. Obadiah A. Masen_," I murmur aloud, vaguely puzzled. The sentiment is nice. You could even venture to say that it's _inspirational_. But...

_Obadiah_?

Who in this day in age outside of Amish country is named something like that?

Unless...

Darting my eyes up, I peek at Edward and scrutinize him thoroughly.

Nope. I can't picture him looking like Abe Lincoln in a zipper-less suit while he plows a field by hand. Besides, I think that he loves his car too much to use a horse-drawn carriage.

"My grandfather," he reveals in a low voice.

I glance at the engraving and meet his gaze once again. "It's beautiful. Did he give this to you?" I ask curiously.

Edward chews the inside of his cheek for a few seconds before he barely shakes his head. "He left it to my father, who then gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday."

Now that I examined it fully, I carefully push the watch back to him. He reaches out to retrieve it at the same time, his palm lightly brushing against my retreating fingers as I pull my arm away from his watch. "Why do you hide it?" I question him, not able to understand why he would ever want to conceal something so meaningful to him.

After placing it back into his pocket, Edward leans back in his chair, his arms folded across his pectorals. "Who says that I hide it?" he replies in a detached voice.

"Whenever you pull it out you seem a little tense," I gently point out to him. "Then you stuff it back into your pocket."

He says nothing at all for a while, his mouth twisted to its side as his eyes stay zoned in on my own. After a short time, he takes a small breath and slowly releases it. "Pocket watches aren't exactly fashionable anymore, as you probably know," he placidly explains. "People tend to ask a lot of questions about why I carry it around that I don't usually like to reveal."

It feels like someone punched me in the gut. That's the guilt making its presence known, I guess. I realize that I am no better of a person than the gossiping, big-mouths down at Forks High that attempt to suck out every single drop of information out of a defenseless victim. They're worse than vampires.

"Like what I just did," I contritely whisper.

Briefly closing his eyes, he shakes his head. "Don't worry, Bella. I don't mind if you ask me questions. I've asked you plenty of questions myself," he soothingly replies. A playful grin then spreads across his face. "Besides, you don't seem to be the type to go running around Monday morning revealing all my best kept secrets," he teases lightheartedly, his eyes shining brightly once again.

Then - damn him - he winks.

Freakin' _winks_.

My brain shuts down. All I can see now is that stupid, gorgeous smile that won't leave his face. If I keep dumbly staring at it, I have no doubt that it will be burnt into my retinas for the rest of my life - exactly like if I were to go look at the midday sun without the proper eye protection.

Plucking my eyeballs away from his blinding grin, I snap my head towards the nearby window in order to recollect myself. This really isn't fair. He shouldn't be allowed to smile and wink like that without giving a fair warning. It's dangerous. A _hazard. _If I wasn't in good health, I'm almost positive that he would have given me a heart attack just now.

After an embarrassingly long time goes by, I bravely shift my head back in his direction. His face is scrunched together confusedly, quietly observing me. The cheerful grin is gone for now, helping me to relax but also making me feel a little guilty about destroying the positive vibe at our table. I find myself wanting to bring it back.

"Only if you promise not to tell Mike and Jessica that I don't have an Aunt Beatrice," I softly counter, faintly smiling.

Edward chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. "Now _that_ sounds like a deal," he smoothly agrees.

With a growing smile, I pop another bite of brownie into my mouth as I listen to him laugh. It's a beautiful sound. And I wish he would do it more often.

**00000000000000000000**

We finish eating a few minutes later and walk back to his car. It's colder now than it was earlier. A stiff northerly wind is passing right through my jacket. Edward quickly unlocks the passenger side door while I silently freeze to death. Yanking open the door, he patiently waits for me to get inside before he pushes it closed - even after I told him that I could do it for myself.

I'm coming to realize that he is pretty stubborn when it comes to doors. He always wants to be the one to open or close them. It has to more than just wanting to be nice. As he strolls around to the driver's side, I conclude that he must have an obsessive compulsive disorder. Maybe he doesn't like for people besides himself to ever touch them.

Edward slips in and cranks up the car, sending us speeding back to Forks. Once the car's engine warms up, he fiddles with the buttons and knobs of the climate control until the interior is filled with blissfully warm heat. Soon, it feels so nice that I shimmy out of my jacket and throw it on the backseat. He keeps his jacket on, something for which I am thankful. If he were to pull it back off now that we're in a confined space, it might become a problem. I don't want him catching me doing an inventory of his muscles or anything embarrassing like that.

Once we leave the Port Angeles city limits, the street lights end and the car plunges into darkness. The small, two-lane highway that leads to Forks feels almost deserted. His car doesn't pass anything other than the countless looming trees until a log truck zooms by a few minutes into the trip.

"Do you like music?" Edward wonders aloud, ending our quiet spell. Though it is pitch-black outside of the car, the lights on the dashboard illuminate his face enough for me to see him.

"Who doesn't?" I snarkily respond.

"Touché," he says, his lips cocked up into a smile. "Actually, I was asking if you'd like to _listen_ to some music. There's some CDs in that compartment in front of you. You can choose whatever you'd like if you want," he continues while pointing at a spot below the airbag.

Snooping through his things sounds like a _fantastic_ idea. However, it comes at a great risk. I have already been a wee bit nervous about breaking something in here. So far, by keeping as still as a statue and not allowing my hands to roam around, I've kept disaster from happening.

But there's absolutely no way I can pass this opportunity up.

With shaking hands, I grab the small handle on the compartment and pull, praying that it won't snap off. The compartment pops open, revealing dozens upon dozens of CDs. He has more discs crammed in this tiny space than I have on the shelf in my room. He either _really_ loves music or he works as a CD salesman on the side.

As I browse through his collection, I see that he has a wide variety. Some artists I recognize. There's Elvis before he went through his bloated, jumpsuit-wearing phase. Several 50s era Doo-Wop singers. A scattering of psychedelic 60s bands with painted flowers on their cheeks. Some Alternative Rock bands from the modern era that like to scream sing. Several 1980s musicians with puffy bangs and tracksuits. And a whole lot of Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, and the like.

Then there's quite a few musicians that I've never heard of before. Cab Calloway, an early jazz singer. Glenn Miller, a big band composer from the World War II era. And one guy the CD says composed something called "Rag" music back during the early twentieth century.

After I spot his fourth Beatles disc, I start laughing and can barely stop. What kind of a teenager collects CDs like this? He has nearly every genre of the last one hundred years represented in this compartment, not to mention the Classical music that's from long before that.

It feels as if I have crawled inside of his brain. I can see his personality hinted at in his music preferences. He loves the classics. Likes some modern music. And he isn't ashamed to have his love of 1980s big hair, Glam bands known.

"What is it?" I hear him ask through my giggling.

Smashing my mouth shut to stop laughing, I look over at Edward. He's trying to watch me as he drives, his faintly worried eyes constantly darting back and forth from the road to my face.

"Nothing," I smilingly reply. "It's just that I've discovered that Edward Masen has an _eclectic_ taste in music."

His attention leaves the road and stays on me for longer than usual. "And is that a bad thing?" he asks in a low voice, suddenly sounding unsure of himself.

I roll my eyes to the heavens and dramatically sigh. "No, of course it isn't. In fact, it's comforting to know that _somebody_ is keeping alive Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis, and Frank Sinatra while simultaneously being a fan of Green Day and Linkin Park," I reply, straight-faced.

His mouth pinches together while his eyebrow cocks up. "Am I detecting sarcasm or is that just how you give out compliments?"

Tapping my finger contemplatively on my lips while I squint, I take my time in answering him. Yes, it was a compliment. But I can't resist making him sweat it a little.

'Which would you prefer?" I ask, struggling to contain a smile.

"I suppose since I had such a vexing evening earlier tonight that a compliment might be helpful in raising my spirits," he dryly replies.

Seeing that he is taking my teasing like a good sport, I no longer hide my smile. "Well, Edward, I give you my full permission to take it as a compliment," I grandly decree, trying to sound like a queen bestowing knighthood on one of her subjects.

"Why, thank you," Edward amusedly smirks. "Did you find anything that you like?"

Picking up one of the CDs from my lap, I place it onto his outstretched hand. "Yes," I answer simply.

With his eyes flicking away from the road for a couple of seconds, he goes to open the case but freezes before he does so. His head snaps in my direction. "Debussy?" he mutters with furrowed brows.

"Yeah, is there a problem?"

He continues to stare at me off and on as he drives, not answering the question right away. "No. There's no problem," he hesitantly replies, his hand rubbing his square jaw. Snapping his mouth shut, he concentrates on the road for around ten seconds before his head swings back towards me. "You _do_ know that there's no singing? It's just a piano," he carefully discloses.

_Well, duh._

I shoot him an annoyed scowl in response. The CD advertises that information clearly right there on its plastic case. Besides, I'm not completely ignorant about Classical music. Mom and I used to listen to it when one of us had a bad day and needed to cool off.

"I know. That's why I chose it in the first place. It's _relaxing_," I evenly respond, trying not to snap at him for assuming that I'm an uncultured moron.

Nodding his head musingly, he pops the CD out of its case and shoves it into the car's CD player. The first song that plays is one of my favorites - Clair de Lune. It's soothing and peaceful. I instantly begin to relax, my body losing some of the tension that I have been dealing with ever since we got back into his car. Edward remains silent as we drive, which helps me mellow out further. That's one thing that I can really appreciate about him - he doesn't constantly talk. If he has something to say, he says it. But he doesn't monopolize the conversation or yap his mouth off until your eardrums burst and bleed.

Unlike _some_ people I know.

It's hard to believe that an hour ago Mike's hand was on the prowl behind my back while Jessica latched onto Edward and would barely let go. And no amount of hinting clued them to the fact that Edward and I didn't want to reciprocate. It was like their minds had been taken over by Pod People. Really handsy, _annoying_ Pod People sent to Earth in an attempt to find human partners to repopulate their dying alien species.

If it hadn't been for Edward's escape plan, I might still be in that theater fighting Mike off. There's no doubt that the night would _not_ have ended well. Mike would have either wound up with his feelings hurt or his groin smashed in by my knee.

All at once, a frightening thought slams into me.

"What are we going to tell them, Edward?" I gasp, feeling the anxiety rise inside of me by the second.

His head snaps my way, his face full of concern. "Who?" he questions, sounding slightly alarmed.

"Mike and Jessica," I guiltily mutter, my bottom lip between my teeth. "They'll probably ask what happened to us after we ditched them."

Relaxing back in his seat, he nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders as if there's nothing to worry about at all. "Tell them whatever you would like," he advises, his voice now tranquil and carefree. "I doubt they will pay close enough attention to the details to realize that your _dear aunt_ is fictional."

"But I don't know what to say," I nervously explain. I thought that he realized by now that I am not an actress. Nor do I have the ability to make something up off the top of my head like he evidently can...

His dark green eyes leave the road for a moment and he wearily sighs. "Bella, those two are great at talking about things that they are interested in, but they are absolutely the _worst_ listeners I have ever run across. You could tell them that it was your _Uncle Fred_ that was sick and they probably wouldn't notice."

Edward is probably right about that. I've told Mike at least three times that I hate fishing, yet he still talks about it occasionally as though its inevitable that we will be casting our reels into Lake Meyer together soon.

Yeah. That's not happening.

But I'm still worried about being caught in a lie. I just know that if Jessica starts interrogating me Monday morning about what happened after we escaped, I'll freeze up and panic. If I don't have something to say already planned out, Jessica will easily see right through me.

While I nervously tug at my fingers, I feel Edward's eyes back on me. I glance over and watch him driving one handed, his right arm resting on the center console. "Just say that she is doing better now and she's out of the hospital," he confidently states, making up an excuse on the spot. "They won't bother inquiring much more than that. _Trust me._"

I take in a breath of air and slowly release it, trying to calm down. "OK," I nod a couple of times. I feel a tiny bit better about having a plausible story to give them if they ask, but another thought soon torments me.

Did Edward and I do the _right_ thing tonight? Sure, Jessica and Mike were out of line and should have never behaved in the way they did. But, did lying and abandoning those two make Edward and I any better people? All they wanted to do was hang out with us. Maybe we could have found another way to deal with them without potentially hurting their feelings...

"What is it now?" Edward exasperatedly sighs, somehow picking up on my guilt.

"Is it wrong what we did? I mean...we lied and ditched them in the middle of a movie!" I groan.

His eyebrows rise up to his hairline as he incredulously stares at me. Moments later, a couple of dry laughs escape from his mouth while shakes his head. "If we had stayed you would now be _Mrs. Michael Newton_ in his eyes. Does that sound agreeable to you?" he bluntly points out.

Without my consent, a horrifying mental image invades my brain. One in which I'm wearing a long, white wedding gown while Mike stands next to me at an altar. Nightmare Mike informs me that I should have worn a knee length dress instead of the fancy one that I have on because we're hiking fifteen miles to our honeymoon destination. Then he stares unabashedly at my cleavage and asks if I'm wearing a bra.

Great. Now I'm feeling guilty _and_ nauseated.

"No," I huff out, answering Edward's question.

"Then, you did the right thing," he says, his lips slightly lifting at the corners. "You shouldn't be ashamed for escaping from an evening of involuntary fondling just because you were sitting next to that... boy."

"You're right," I concede with a sigh.

We both turn quiet once again. I feel so much better now after our talk. Soon, my head falls back against the headrest as I watch the trees fly past my window. The gentle Debussy piano piece playing in the background lulls me into a peaceful state, my eyelids lowering drowsily in the muted light.

"I'm sorry about tonight," Edward murmurs unexpectedly. I turn my head a little to find him stiffly driving, his left hand tightly bearing down on the steering wheel.

"Why should you be?" I ask, my brows knitted together confusedly.

His eyes dart back to my face while his head shakes sadly. "Bella," he softly sighs. "Instead of just taking you home after what we went through with Mike and Jessica, like I should have, I dragged you to some hole-in-the-wall café and bored you half to death."

I stare at him for several seconds, astonished at how he could be so wrong.

Is he _kidding_ me? This night marks the first time in weeks that I'm not climbing into bed before ten o'clock. Edward could have flicked pieces of his food at my forehead at that café and I would have _still_ had a better time than if we had stayed at the movies. I actually had a good time at that café. A _very_ good time. Of course, I can't tell him exactly _why _I enjoyed it so much, but I can't deny that I did.

"It wasn't boring," I retort in defense. How could he ever think that way?

With his brow arched, he eyes me doubtfully but doesn't otherwise respond.

"_Really_," I emphasize. "This has been the most entertaining night I've had since I've moved here. If I had stayed at home I would have had an exciting evening of cooking, washing dishes, and watching Charlie while he watches ESPN while I attempt to finish my Trig homework. Tonight was definitely _anything_ but boring."

Edward's mouth purses out a little to the side, his head tilting off balance. "Do you have trouble with Trigonometry?" he asks, veering us off the subject.

"A little. I hate math," I shrug indifferently. I'm a word person. I would much rather read a good book than find out what Y equals or calculate the square root of 117. To me, trigonometry is an evil byproduct of some cruel teacher from long ago that thought it up just to torment his or her students.

"What do you average?"

I take a moment to think. "If I'm lucky and study hard, a very low B... What about you?"

"Usually an A," he reveals, casually shrugging his shoulder.

Using my marvelous acting skills, I try to scowl. "Show off," I grouchily mutter, attempting to sound annoyed.

"What about your other subjects?" he grins, overlooking my comment.

"English and Government are easy, so an A in both of those. A's or B's in Spanish. And usually A's in Biology."

After I reveal this information, he goes back to focusing on his driving. His long, thick fingers begin rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel, perfectly matching the tune playing on the sound system. I silently watch them, spellbound. Turns out his eyes aren't the only things that can hypnotize me. Fingers work just as well. Who knew?

I probably need to see a specialist that understands my problem. It can't be normal for someone to find _one_ boy so interesting. I don't want to turn into one of those girls that writes the name of their current obsession a trillion times in their notebook, usually adorned with miniature hearts along the borders. That's just pathetic.

I _definitely_ need help before it's too late...

"I could help you," Edward's voice purrs, his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

My breath catches in my throat. Nearly hysterical, my eyes zoom over to study him directly.

Did he _hear_ me? Was I talking out loud like a raging lunatic without even realizing it?

Or, is it whenever he hypnotizes me, he is actually peering deep inside of my mind? Reading my thoughts and trying not to laugh at what he has heard? If that's true, that means he probably knows all about the crazy thoughts I've had about him tonight. Heck, he'll even be aware of how I stared for an inappropriately long time at his biceps when he put them on display at that damn café.

Please. Kill. Me. _Now_.

Edward's eyes flick back to mine. "I could help you in Trig. I could _tutor_ you."

_Ooooh_...

My lungs and heart jolt back to life, resuming seminormal operations. My jaw, however, falls wide open - half surprised by his offer, half greatly relieved that he evidently can't read my thoughts. The latter wouldn't have been good for me. I would have had to take drastic measures to stop that from happening. Like performing a lobotomy on myself.

As for his offer to tutor me, having someone help me out occasionally when I run into a tough Trig problem is actually not a bad idea. But having Edward be that person might be a problem. He's too distracting. I might concentrate on _him_ rather than my work. If he was my tutor, I might come out dumber than I was before he started helping me. Besides, having him go out of his way to tutor me doesn't feel right either. I'm sure he has enough to worry about in his life. He shouldn't have to worry if I passed a trig quiz, too.

"No. That would be way too much trouble for you," I firmly refuse, shaking my head.

"Not at all. You would be helping me, as well," he insists breezily.

"_Really_, Edward?" I reply with suspicion burning in my eyes. "And just how would _I_ be helping _you_ tutor me?"

"You would be helping me bring up my grades in English, of course."

My doubt deepens. Edward has never struck me as being anything other than a perfect student. I've heard Jessica go on and on about how smart he is. And from what I have observed, I think that this is one fact about him that she isn't exaggerating. In biology class, he always has the correct answer when Mr. Banner calls on him. And I hear him everyday casually using words like "_indubitably_" and "_aberrant_" during conversations. Once during lunch at school, he took a bite of his lasagna and said that it was "_insipid_". Jessica then readily agreed that her lasagna "tasted great, too".

I keep my attention glued to his face. "_You_ have trouble in English class?"

"I certainly do," he nods, maintaining eye contact with me for a few moments before his eyes dash back to the highway.

I carefully watch him for a while as I think things over. He _sounds_ sincere, however I am now well aware of how convincing he can be when he lies. But no matter how hard I try, I can't see why he _would_ lie about something like this. There's nothing he could gain from this arrangement other than what he is claiming. It's not like I'm the school genius and he needs to cheat off my work. And even if that is the case, he will soon discover that I'm an average student at best. My only true strength is English.

"OK," I tentatively begin. "_If_ I were to agree, what would we do to help each other?"

"We could meet every so often and check each other's work. And if one person has any difficulty with anything the other person will try to help out."

"How often?"

"How often do _you_ think?" he gently stresses.

"Twice a week?" I shyly volunteer after a moment's thought.

"That sounds reasonable," he nods. Then several seconds later, he asks, "Where do you want to meet?"

My teeth drag across my bottom lip. It hadn't occurred to me until now that if we meet up twice a week, we would need an actual building to conduct those tutoring sessions. I obviously was too focused on the "_I will be seeing Edward after school_" part to give much notice to anything else.

"My house, I guess," I reply. Then I realize that maybe he wouldn't feel very comfortable at my house. There's nothing spectacular about it. My house is the definition of middle class. It's old and not very roomy. Since it's just Charlie and me, we don't really mind those things very much. But, I'm sure that Edward is accustomed to mansions and luxurious penthouse apartments in Chicago.

"Unless you'd rather meet at yours?" I apprehensively remark, already imagining myself knocking over a priceless vase at the Cullen mansion and being roughly escorted off the property.

"Your house is fine. My house is pretty far away from town," he divulges. A slow grin then envelopes his entire face, his attention leaving the road to glance over at me. "I'm not sure if your rusting scrapheap with wheels could make it there and back without heavenly assistance," he jokes playfully.

Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms at my chest. My truck may not be flashy or extravagant, but it does have at least one positive quality - it's built like a tank. When Tyler's van hit it, that truck shielded us from danger. I doubt this Volvo could have done that.

"Hey!" I yelp with flashing eyes. "No bashing my truck! It saved our lives, remember?"

Edward's mocking grin fades into a repentant, crooked smile. "You're right. I apologize if I hurt you or your truck," he purrs, his voice suddenly warm and velvety soft.

My mouth pops open a little at the sound that just came out of his throat, my irritation totally forgotten. Meanwhile, my attention is dizzily switching here and there between staring at his lopsided smile, the mischievous glint still shining in his eyes, and the rhythmically tapping fingers on the steering wheel.

_Voice. Eyes. Smile. Tapping fingers..._

Being hypnotized four different ways is a new record for me. And I can safely say that it is not one that I'm particularly proud of.

I tell myself to go look at something else. _Anything _else_. **Right now.**_

My head then whips away and I force myself to look straight ahead for the next couple of minutes. I only allow myself to concentrate on the soothing music and the sights that pass by the window, which mainly consists of scraggly trees and the occasional roadkill splotch alongside the highway. By the time we pass the Forks city limits sign, I feel in control of myself again. So, when he goes to ask where my house is, I give him the directions with some semblance of sanity.

He pulls his car into the driveway right behind Charlie's police cruiser, parking as close to the house as possible. Knowing that it's time for me to go, my hand wraps around the door handle and I turn my back towards him, readying myself to exit the car. But I can't seem to find the strength to push this door open. The sane part of my brain is joyful that I made it back home without leaving too much of a disaster in my wake. I had been terrified all night that I would make a fool of myself in front of him. Now that I am safely back home, I _should_ be able to tell Edward "thanks for the ride" or whatever and just get out.

But another part of me feels like that isn't good enough.

And I think that's what's scariest of all.

He loudly clears his throat and I reluctantly turn back around. The nearby street lamp is casting him in a warm glow, the coppery strands of his hair shimmering in the half light. "At least I learned a valuable lesson tonight," he comments once he catches my eye.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

The green hue of his eyes deepens and dazzles through the darkness, as though he can flip this ability on like a light switch. "As long as you have a friend nearby," he throatily reveals, "even the worst night imaginable can become better than you could have possibly hoped for."

I can feel my brain beginning to shut down. Desperate to save myself, I frantically blink my eyes to fight the mental fog creeping up on me. And it works. It takes an enormous amount of self-control, but I manage to recover pretty quickly.

After snapping out of it, I mull over what he said and I find that I agree with him completely. Then I realize that this means that he had fun tonight, too. With me.

"I feel the same way," I say with a genuine smile. I feel all warm and tingly in my chest all of the sudden. This must be how the Grinch felt when his heart expanded.

Aware that I can't drag this out any longer, I push open the door and slide out. It's freezing out here. A watery mist is already beginning to cling to my skin and chill me to the bone. Being in Edward's toasty warm car for almost an hour spoiled me.

"Bella, wait!" he calls out.

I bend down and peer inside the car, watching him while he turns around at his waist and digs for something in his backseat. In seconds, he's back with something draped across his arm. "You forgot your jacket," he says, stretching his long arm across the passenger seat as he holds the jacket out for me to take.

My hand brushes briefly against his outstretched palm as I retrieve my jacket. Once it is back in my possession, I say a quick "thank you" as straighten back up.

"You're welcome," he smiles.

I take a step back, my hand resting on the car door frame as I take one last look at him. "Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight, Bella," he faintly replies as I shut the door.

I walk away from his Volvo and head up the sidewalk, my feet sporadically slipping on stray gravel and fallen leaves as I make my way to the front door. After I make it there without tripping, I pull out the spare key from the eaves, unlock the door, and head inside of the house. With the door knob in my hand, I am about to close the door when something occurs to me.

I haven't heard Edward leave.

Slowly, I turn my entire body around. His car still sits in the driveway. I can barely make out his silhouette in the driver's seat. I smile and wave my hand goodbye, touched that he was waiting until I was safely inside of my house before he leaves. Then, with my smile fading, I close the door.

"That you, Bells?" Charlie shouts from his recliner throne in front of the TV.

"Yeah. It's me," I breathe out as I walk into the living room.

Charlie glances at the clock and says, "Hmm. I thought that you said that you kids wouldn't be back home until closer to eleven? Nothing went wrong, I hope?"

"No. Nothing went wrong. We just didn't like the movie very much, so we left the theater and grabbed a bite to eat before we headed home," I tell him, not wanting to reveal the entire story. Saying that one boy tried to fondle me so I decided to run off with another boy that I like to gaze at from time to time is a story I will not be sharing with my dear, ol' Dad.

"I see," he mutters, sympathetically wiggling his mustache. "Too bad you kids didn't have a better time tonight. I know how much you were looking forward to it."

"It wasn't so bad," I admit in a near whisper, my brain conjuring up images of bronze hair and a cheeky smile.

Shaking the memory from my mind, I take a couple of steps backwards towards the stairs, wanting to escape the room before Charlie asks anymore questions that would require me to lie. "Umm... I'm pretty tired. I think I should go head up to bed."

"Sure," Charlie nods, taking a sip from his can of beer as he refocuses on the hockey game on TV. "Night, Bells."

Rushing up to my bedroom, I use my back leg to push my door shut and release a pent up breath. Flipping on the light, I wander to my bed and drop down on top of it like a ragdoll, my arms and legs dangling off the edge. As I contemplate everything I saw and learned tonight, I realize that it's time for me to admit something that I have suspected for days.

I like Edward Masen.

This is something that's tough for me to own up to. Bella Swan doesn't feel that way. _Ever_. She thinks a boy is cute or attractive, but "liking" them has never been much of a problem before now.

On the bright side, I guess I'm eligible to become a member of the _Edward Masen Fan Club_ now. I'm sure Jessica will be thrilled to have me join the fold. She has probably been pretty lonely ever since all the other girls gave up on him so long ago. We can have weekly meetings and compare notes on how our lives have been impacted since we met him. I can introduce myself as though I'm in an AA meeting and say, "My name is Bella S. and I have been affected by Edward for two weeks now." Maybe she'll even let me be Treasurer or something like that.

Of course, I won't _really_ tell her. I don't plan on informing _anyone_. I firmly believe that your feelings shouldn't be advertised for everyone to see. They should be beaten into submission, bottled up, and then buried deep inside of you until whatever it was that was bothering you withers away. That's how Charlie handles his emotions and he turned out OK. I plan on doing the same.

After all, it's just a crush. Nothing important. Everyone has one at least once in their lives - as Mom has warned me a thousand times. I guess it's _my_ turn to put up with it now. But everyone knows they never last for long. They spark up inside of you and die out just as quickly. From what I have seen from watching the phenomena happen to other unfortunate victims, the average crush lifespan lasts only a few days. A few weeks at most. After that you wonder what you ever saw in him/her in the first place.

Plus, having Edward at my house to study with me twice a week will only help speed along the process. I'll get used to him - he will no longer be a curiosity to occupy my thoughts. Perhaps I'll even see some flaws in his personality. Like maybe he hates puppies, or he just adores to egg his enemies' houses in his spare time. I'm sure that something about him will wipe that infatuation right out of my mind.

By the end of the month, I'll be thinking of him as merely a friend. And all will be right again in the world.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Ha! Famous last words...**

**Next Chapter\- A surprise at school. Edward goes to Bella's house. And a showdown between father and daughter.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	10. School Daze

**Chapter 10- School Daze**

**February 7, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

Bright and early Sunday morning, Charlie threw on his fly-fishing vest and headed out to a secluded stream for the day. I, on the other hand, chose to don my beloved sweatpants and ate ice cream on the couch while I glowered at the overcast sky outside of our living room window. He came home with a huge trout and a great fishing story to tell his colleagues at work on Monday. All I wound up with was an empty Häagen-Dazs container and a chocolate stain on my favorite t-shirt.

But I would be lying if I said that I didn't think about you-know-who at all that day. I kept running through the events from the night before, wondering how Edward went from being an acquaintance I speak to only occasionally to my study partner who will soon see Charlie's embarrassingly large collection of animatronic fish that sing songs like "_Don't Worry Be Happy_" that hang in the living room. If Edward ever lived under the assumption that the Swans are a classy family, he will soon discover for himself how mistaken he is.

Midway through my pint of ice cream, I realized that we forgot to nail down the details of our tutoring schedule. We agreed to meet twice a week yet did not specify what days they would be. Since I have no life outside of school, I have no preference. I'll have to bring this up to him the next time I see him.

When Monday morning rolls around, I slip behind the wheel of my truck and drive as slow as a tortoise towards Forks High. I'm in no hurry to get there. To be perfectly honest, I am _intentionally_ running late. My first class of the day just so happens to boast Mike, aka Sir Talks-A-Lot, as one of my classmates and he has unfortunately made it a habit to talk with me before class begins. Normally, I don't mind hearing his mindless chatter at eight o'clock in the morning. Since he takes complete control of the conversation and rarely expects for me to contribute, I can let my mind fall into a semi-conscious state. It's almost like taking a catnap. All I have to do is mumble "oh?" and "really?" every so often while nodding my head. It's a great way to rest before school starts.

But I know that today will probably be different. Mike might be asking me questions about what happened Saturday night and expecting me to explain. Edward tried to assure me that what I tell Mike and Jessica about that night doesn't matter. He claimed that they are too occupied with themselves to pay much attention to the details of my excuse, but I don't fully buy that hypothesis. When Jessica is interested in something, she grills her victim with endless questions and soaks up the gossip like a sponge. Later she dissects what she has collected and shares it with everyone she knows. And since I left with Edward the other night - the boy she obsesses over every single day - I'm sure she is dying to interrogate me.

In defense for what is surely to come, I spent some of my Sunday afternoon coming up with a plausible back story in case Jessica or Mike asks about my imaginary Aunt Beatrice. I decided that Beatrice is a seventy-two year old retiree from an accounting firm in Spokane that sews patriotic quilts to send to disabled veterans, bakes gingersnaps for the holidays, and has a history of gastrointestinal disease. The latter is what I shall say if they ask why she was hospitalized. I figure that gastrointestinal disease is a vague term that could cover just about anything. She could be suffering from heart burn, ulcers, gallstones, diarrhea, or about a dozen other ailments that you normally don't want too many details because of the "ick" factor involved. I'm sure that Jessica and Mike will quickly drop the subject once they hear me describing an elderly lady's struggles with her digestive tract.

After arriving at school, I stay in the parking lot until my truck's clock shows that I have exactly three minutes to make it to class before I would be counted as late. With any luck, I'll walk into first period English right as the bell rings. But even if I'm not lucky, the worse that can happen is that Mike will only have around 60 seconds to talk or question me before the teacher calls for everyone's attention - thereby shutting down any conversation Mike may be trying to have with me.

Either way it goes, I'd say that's a win for me.

After grabbing my things from the passenger seat of the truck, I make a mad dash towards the English building and slip into the classroom roughly half of a minute before class is set to begin. Mike sighs in relief when he sees me walking through the door.

"Hey, Bella! I'm glad to see that you could make it in today," he barks enthusiastically as I sit down at my desk next to his. With that dopey grin on his face, he looks so thrilled by my appearance that I half expect to see a furry, wagging tail pop out from behind him. "I thought that maybe you went out of town to help that relative of yours," he finishes.

"Oh, no," I say with a quick shake of my head, making sure to not look him in the eye. "It turned out to be just a false alarm. My aunt had some gastrointestinal problems that night and thought she was having a heart attack. But she's fine now."

I practiced saying this in front of the bathroom mirror last night until I had it down pat. Although I may not be as impressive of a liar as Edward, I'm proud to say that I recited my fib to Mike pretty well.

"Hmm... Too bad you had to bail so early then," he says musingly, scratching his chin. Without warning, his friendly grin turns leering. It's that same simpering "come hither" look that he sometimes does that gives me night terrors. "Ya know," he slowly drawls, eyeing me up and down. "I think that maybe we should-"

_Brrriinngg!_

The clanging of the bell cuts him off mid-sentence. Our English teacher immediately launches into the lesson, telling us to crack open our textbook to chapter twenty-three. Grateful for the interruption, I release a pent up breath and allow my posture to relax. Meanwhile, Mike grouchily yanks out his textbook from his backpack and throws it down with a thud onto his desk. His mouth is set in a deep frown as he flips it open to the chapter we are studying.

During class, my knee nervously bounces up and down while my eyes stay glued to the clock on the wall. I can't wait to get out of here. It's glaringly apparent that Mike is still determined to ask me out, and I certainly don't want to be put on the spot when he tries again. I had been hoping that Mike would spend the remainder of the weekend rethinking our trip to Port Angeles. I thought that he was smart enough to pick up on the clues I have dropped like breadcrumbs that say that I am not interested in him. But I guess none of that has occurred to him.

Halfway through the hour, I realize my best bet to save myself would be to just avoid being around him when I am alone. Most people (well, teenagers) want privacy when they ask someone out on a date because, let's face it, being rejected is awful. But having your classmates there to listen in on your failed attempt is even worse. So, as long as I have lots and lots of witnesses around me all day long, Mike will probably feel too uncomfortable to bring the subject up. However, if that doesn't work, I think I will just recycle some of Edward's excuses that he has used on Jessica. They worked on her, so why not try them on Mike, too? I can tell him that I have a doctor's appointment every day until I graduate. As a side bonus to that lie, maybe he'll assume that I have some sort of incurable disease and steer clear of me for a while.

_Brrriinng!_

At the end of the hour, I'm out of my seat as soon as the bell rings - snatching up my books and fleeing my desk before Mike can utter a single word. While I'm darting out the door, I catch sight of him staring at me, still in his seat with his mouth loosely hanging open. He's probably shocked that I'm running faster now than I do during gym class. Sheer terror will do that to a girl.

I make it to second period Government with no problems. However, once there is only a couple of minutes left on the clock, I remind myself that my next class will be just as stressful as my first. Jessica will be there, and I'm sure that she has a thousand and one questions prepared to throw at me. Knowing her, she'll want to hear every little detail of my time with Edward. I can practically hear her now...

_What did you and Edward talk about on the ride home?_

_Did he talk about me?_

_How did he look when he left the movie theater? Did he seem sad that he had to leave early?_

_Did you remind him that I'm single?_

_Are you **sure** he didn't mention me?_

After Mr. Jefferson dismisses his second period class, I take my time picking up my things since I'm in no hurry to leave. Maybe if I walk into third period Trig right as the bell sounds like I did this morning, it will cut down on the amount of questions she can ask.

When I walk out of the classroom, I see the sidewalks jam packed with students strolling to their next class. I take approximately ten steps in the direction of the math building when I hear someone shouting my name. My shoulders instantly slump in defeat. Turning around, I find Jessica bouncing over with a gigantic smile on her face. In the same amount of time it takes for me to blink once, she is already sliding up at my side while her mouth moves at supersonic speed.

"Hey, I've been looking _all over_ for you!" she squeals, waving her hands all around as we walk. "Where _were_ you this morning?! I hope you don't mind walking to class with me cause there's a million things I gotta tell you! I wanted to call you Sunday but I was super busy and never got the chance. Sorry! But wasn't Saturday night - like - totally awesome?! I can't _believe_ how perfect it was.

"And, oh my god! Did you see how great he looked?" she gushes breathily, shutting her eyes as if she is trying to conjure up Edward's image behind her eyelids. "I mean, I already knew that he's cute and all, but I don't think I ever realized just how _hot_ of a guy he is until I sat right beside him. And he was so _sweet_! Did you know that when I got scared, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and held me until I felt better? It was like...the most romantic thing anyone has _ever_ done for me."

My forehead scrunches together, puzzled by what she is saying. I never saw Edward holding Jessica that night. I saw _her_ grabbing onto him, but never the other way around. So I wonder when _that_ happened? I must not have paid as much attention to what was going on between them as I had thought.

"He _held_ you?" I repeat, nibbling my lip anxiously.

Her mouth stretches into a bright grin, her toffee brown eyes glistening. "Yes! There was this one part where that monster thing popped out and ripped apart some woman and - _ugh_! - there was so much blood! It was _mega_ _gross_, ya know? And _so_ scary. I think I screamed like a maniac during that part."

As we walk into Trig and pass by Mr. Varner's desk, Jessica temporarily clamps her mouth shut to keep the teacher from eavesdropping. Though, as soon as we're seated, she starts flapping her mouth again.

"So, anyway, he pulled my face into his chest so I wouldn't be able to see what that monster was doing anymore. And you know what? It made me feel so much better! Like, I felt really _safe_. And when I was sitting there like that, I realized that I _belonged_ there. It was..." She pauses to dreamily stare off into the distance, her cheek resting in the palm of her hand. "_Magical,_" she contentedly sighs.

I want to be happy for her. _Really_. She's been pining for Edward for months. She deserves a little happiness in her life. And so what if he held her during that horror movie? She was _scared_. He just wanted to comfort her.

So why am I feeling queasy?

Vaguely, I notice Jessica's smile falter as she stares back at me. Her head tilts to the side and her eyes sweep over my face. "Umm, Bella?" she says, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

My eyes widen in panic. My damn facial expressions must have been advertising what was going on in my head. If Jessica figures out that I like him, this whole town will know before dusk. _Including_ _Edward_. And if that happens, I might as well hand over my pride, crawl into a hole, and allow myself to shrivel up and die from complete humiliation. There's no way I would ever be able to face him again.

Shaking my head, my lips form a tight lipped smile. "Of course I'm not mad. Why would you think that?" I calmly say.

Jessica shrugs her shoulder, her gaze still analyzing. "Well, he _has_ been hanging out with you a lot. And, ever since you moved here, I've noticed that he's been sitting with you, Angela, and me at lunch more than before." Dipping her head down a bit, her face and voice turn serious. "You know, Bella, if you two have something going on, I'll back off. All you have to do is say the word."

"Nothing's going on. We're just friends," I say quickly.

Her left eyebrow cocks up. "Are you _sure_?"

I tell myself that I have to make this believable. If I fail, everyone from Ms. Cope in the school office all the way down to Charlie at the police station will get word that Bella Swan has an unrequited crush on Edward Masen. And I would rather watch ESPN nonstop for a week than go through that. It is a well-known fact that fathers are not supposed to know about certain aspects of their daughters' personal life. I prefer having Charlie think that I am going to be single and celibate for the foreseeable future. It drastically cuts down on embarrassing lectures concerning condoms and birth control. Besides, I lived with Mom for seventeen years. I've been through "The Talk" with her several times - mainly because she's so scatterbrained that she forgot that we had the discussion before. I think I have suffered enough.

"I'm positive," I say with a fake smile wider than before.

Jessica visibly relaxes in her chair, a relieved smile appearing on her face. "_Phew_! I'm _so_ glad you feel that way! I'm not the kind of girl who takes a guy right out from under another girl's nose."

"I appreciate that, but like I said, we're just friends."

She giggles into her hand, her eyes scanning around us before she leans in closer. "He told me that I have soft hair and that I smell nice," she whispers excitedly.

I blink at her a few times, too astonished to speak immediately. I understand that Edward wanted to comfort her during the scary movie, but why would he be stroking her hair and sniffing her? All those times he claimed not to like Jessica, was he _lying_ to me? And if that's the case, why would he even bother?

Clearing my throat, I say, "Oh. Umm. _Wow_. So what did you say?"

Laughing louder, she rolls her eyes playfully. "I told him to stop buttering me up just so he can steal all of my onion rings! Boys think they can get away with anything as long as they compliment you... You know, since you've never dated before, maybe you should remember that bit of information. I'm practically an expert on boys compared to you!" she giggles, greatly amused by my lack of experience.

My eyebrows smash together again. I don't remember the movie theater selling onion rings. Trust me, I would know if they did. I would have smelled them on Mike's breath. The boy ordered every fried food they served.

"W-what?" I stammer uneasily.

"He kept taking them off of my plate!" she laughs as she pulls her jacket off. "We went to that cute little '50s themed diner down the street from the tourist district to grab something to eat. He kept claiming that he was starving to death, but I don't see _how_ that's possible. He ordered a deluxe burger with everything on it, fries, chicken nuggets, and a _huge_ milkshake. Then he ate _half_ of my onion rings yet _still_ had to ask the waitress to bring him the dessert menu." She shakes her head and fondly smiles. "I don't see how he looks so thin when he eats like a pig."

"You and Edward had dinner together?" I murmur, completely astonished. When did _that_ happen? After he dropped me off at my house, did he rush back to Port Angeles, pick Jessica up, and ask her out?

Jessica shakes her head, her eyes squinting so hard that I can barely see the pupils. "Bella, what are you talking about? I went to the restaurant with Mike."

My head jerks back, startled by the news. "You were with _Mike_?"

"Well, _yeah_," she snorts, rolling her eyes. "That's what I've been telling you for the past couple of minutes. Haven't you been paying _any_ attention?"

The tight feeling in my chest loosens ever so slightly. All this time she was talking about Mike. Not Edward. I feel so much better. And more than just a little confused.

"Of course I was listening!" I say quickly as I sit up in my chair. "So...you like _Mike_ now?"

"Yes!" she giddily shrieks. "I used to think he was annoying and immature, but now I know that there's more to him than meets the eye! He's caring. Sweet. And so _interesting_! Did you know that he single-handedly introduced the Troutinator bobbing lure to the Olympic Peninsula? It's their best seller! I can, like, practically guarantee you that he will be franchising out Newton's Outfitters once his parents retire and he takes over. He's gonna be super rich!"

Twisting my mouth, I try to understand what's going on but I can't. How could Jessica go from worshipping a living, breathing, bronzed idol like Edward to crushing on a guy like Mike that woos you with stories about the sporting goods store? Does she _really_ like hearing about the unfortunate customer that forgot to allow his moist boots to dry and he now suffers from athlete's foot? Because if she does, she may be Mike's soulmate after all.

"Hmm... That's great, but what about Edward?" I ask curiously. "I thought that you liked him."

She heaves out a sigh and twirls a strand of hair around her finger. "He's a great guy, Bella. And, yeah, he's hot." She pauses for a moment, her eyes glazing over as she thinks. "Like, _super_ _hot_," she breathes out huskily. Shaking her head to clear her brain, she snaps out of her daze and continues. "But it's time for me to face facts. He's not interested in dating and probably never will be as long as he lives here."

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I clear my throat. "So what changed your mind? The other night you seemed so sure that he was warming up to you."

She lowers her voice and leans towards me. "I _tested_ him."

"Tested him how?"

Her eyes scan our surroundings, making sure that no one is paying us any attention before she explains. "You remember that scary part at the beginning of the movie where that guy dies?" I slowly nod my head and she continues. "Well, I figured that if Edward was interested in me, he wouldn't mind if I...got close to him during the scary parts. So I, umm, put my hand on his lap to see what he would do. I thought he would - ya know - not mind my hand being there. But he picked it up right away and put it on the arm rest. At first, I thought that maybe he was just a little nervous about me coming on too strong, so I waited a few minutes and tried something else. This time I _told_ _him_ that I was scared and tried to get him to put his arm around me. But he wouldn't do it."

Her shoulders sag and she sighs. "Later on, after you and Edward left, I moved to sit by Mike and tried to enjoy the movie. But, to be honest, I was kinda down in the dumps. I mean...Edward wouldn't even hold my hand! I thought for sure if I gave him enough time that he would admit his feelings for me. The least he could do that night was give me some hope! But I got _nothing_! Imagine going after a boy for _five_ months - all the time thinking that he is too shy to admit that he wants to be with you - only to discover that he isn't into you at _all_... You can't even guess how lonely and depressed I felt."

Jessica dreamily sighs, a smile brightening her face. "Then during a _really_ scary part in the movie, I screamed and Mike put his arm around me! I didn't even ask him to do it! I was, like, _shocked_, ya know? This is _Mike_ we're talking about - the guy that I've been friends with forever! I was about to throw his arm off, but something stopped me. That's when I realized that it felt _nice_. He was trying to take care of me and I liked it. By the end of the night, I was a goner... Did you know that Mike's eyes are the same shade as blue Skittles? I was eating some yesterday afternoon and that's when it hit me."

This revelation is making me very uncomfortable. On Saturday night, Mike went from pursuing me to cuddling with Jessica in only a matter of a few minutes. Then, this morning, he was back to going after me again. I guess he doesn't mind who he flirts with as long as they have boobs and a pulse. At least he's not picky.

"So...it's you and Mike now?" I question warily. "And you're giving up on Edward?"

The bell chooses to ring at that moment, signaling the start of Trigonometry class, but we keep on talking since the teacher isn't ready to speak.

"If you're asking if Mike and I are official - then no. But I'm sure that it will be only a matter of time before that happens. We have _major_ _sparks _going on. I bet that Mike will be begging to go out with me before the month is out.

"As for Edward - _yeah _\- I'm giving up. Like I told you before, he's a nice guy but he obviously isn't into the girls around here." In a quick movement, she raises her nose in the air and haughtily sniffs, "He's from _Chicago_, Bella. Small town girls like us aren't sophisticated enough for him. I guess we're too plain and boring compared with what he's used to. He's probably waiting for some gorgeous sorority girl that looks like a Playboy centerfold to scoop him up."

Suddenly, her frosty attitude disappears and she barks out a laugh. "Anyway, Edward should be considered strictly _fantasy_. He's something to keep a girl's brain busy until she finds a boy that's actually willing to cooperate. You can't expect the girl to do _all_ the work in getting the relationship started. The guy should do his part too... Besides, what's the point in dating if your boyfriend is prettier than you?! I think my self-esteem would take a hit. You know what I mean?"

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I slap on a smile. "Yeah."

Soon thereafter, Mr. Varner passes out our worksheet of trig problems to solve and instructs us to turn it in before the end of the hour. On normal days I despise this class. But today I'm embracing it. I'd rather have complicated math problems to concentrate on than thinking about a fantasy.

**00000000000000000000**

Two hours later, Jessica and I leave fourth period Spanish. Unexpectedly, she comes to a halt right there in the middle of the sidewalk, her unmoving body blocking the other students as they try to walk to the school cafeteria. Her hands fly to her head as her fingers brush through her curls. "Quick! How does my hair look?" she asks as she turns towards me. "Mike might be in there waiting for me. If I look like a mess I need to make a detour to the bathroom."

Roughly, I sigh. "You look perfect." I learned my lesson from the other night. Saying that her hair, clothes, makeup, or whatever is _perfect_ is the only way to go.

Satisfied by my compliment, she smiles and stops messing with her hair. We continue on to the cafeteria and grab our lunch. After we pay for our food, we go sit at our normal table.

Angela is the only person there so far. She's across the table from me while Jessica takes a seat to my left. Angela swallows down what she was eating and kindly smiles at us. "Hey guys. What's up? Did you have a nice time in PA?"

With an excited gleam in her eyes, Jessica takes a big gulp of air - just like what the Big Bad Wolf does before he blows down the house made from straw - and out comes the story she told me earlier. Somehow she manages to condense a whole night's worth of events into a one minute story. It's kind of amazing that she can say so much with a single breath of oxygen. Maybe she should look into a career as a deep sea diver.

Once Jessica's story is finished, I watch as Angela's forehead scrunches together. "Wait... I thought you were obses-... I mean, _liked_ Edward?" she says, looking very confused.

_Me too, Angela. Me too..._

"It's the dawn of a new day!" Jessica chirps. "Edward's just a friend now. This morning, I told him _all_ about how Mike and I had such a great time together, and he didn't look upset or anything. He looked really, _really_ happy for me. He's a good guy, Ang, but he's just not for me."

I have to hold in a laugh. I _bet_ Edward looked happy when he heard the news. He probably wanted to break out into a song and dance routine once he realized that Jessica would no longer be following him around like a stalker.

Jessica starts yapping about something that happened to them at the restaurant in PA. It's something to do with Mike eating like a three year old and accidentally rubbing ketchup all over his face. Jessica chortles a laugh and calls him adorable.

So it appears that love _is_ blind. That's interesting to know.

While she goes on talking, the chair to my right pulls out and makes a scratching noise on the linoleum floor. My eyes briefly snap shut. I don't know how I am going to handle this. I was hoping that Mike would want to sit by Jessica today instead of me. She is _not_ going to be happy about this...

Opening my eyes, I turn my head a few degrees, expecting to see him sitting in the chair with a cocky smirk directed at me.

But it's not Mike sitting there. It's Edward.

I give him a quick, welcoming smile - one that's profoundly relieved to see that it's _him_ beside me instead of the alternative.

As I'm turning my head back so that I can pretend that I'm still listening to Jessica's story, the empty chair in between Edward and Angela is dragged out too. A short, dark-haired boy with wire-framed eyeglasses slowly sits down. He keeps looking at us girls with wide, frightened eyes - as if he's itching to bolt from the table the moment one of us looks at him the wrong way. I catch Edward staring intensely at him, shaking his head at the nervous boy as though he's silently telling him to stay put. In the back of my mind, I recall Mike telling me a few days ago about a boy that Edward was friendly with. I recognize him from Trig. Ken, I think is his name.

Or is it Glen?

Now that we have male company, Jessica's detailed story about Mike comes to a quick ending. Instead of taking a break from talking, she goes to asking me what she should do for our Spanish project that's due in three weeks.

Meanwhile, Angela starts chatting with the shy boy beside her. He doesn't say much at first. Instead, he listens to her and only says one or two word answers.

"Did Mr. Mason give you that extra credit for writing a report on Faulkner like you wanted?" she asks the boy.

"Yeah," he replies softly while avoiding looking at her directly.

Angela smiles nervously. "That's good... You did a great job on it, Ben. You made a lot of sense when you explained how some of his stories were influenced by his real life."

"Thanks," Ben says, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

While I try to listen in to their conversation, I notice the last empty chair available at our table pull out. Mike unceremoniously sits down. Providence has arranged for him to sit in between Angela and Jessica today, and the latter looks deliriously happy. Jessica is grinning from ear-to-ear.

But Mike? Not so much.

His mouth is set in a hard line as he looks at everyone at the table. Abruptly, his eyes freeze and narrow slightly at the face of the person next to me.

"_Masen_," he greets coldly.

Surprised that Mike would say anything at all to him, my head snaps to my right to see how Edward is interpreting this unfriendly welcome.

"Hello, Newton," Edward croons, seemingly unperturbed by Mike's hostility.

"Hey, Mike!" calls out Jessica. She's staring at Mike like a lovesick puppy. All that's missing is the slobber.

Mike looks across the room and doesn't even give her a glance. "Hey," he flatly responds after a few beats.

Her mouth lifts into a delighted smile, appearing gratified with the pitifully weak reception he was giving her. "I was just telling Bella about how the rest of our night went," she breathes out. "You know, about how scary the movie was, and how good the food was..."

Mike reaches down to toss a tater tot into his mouth and starts eating his food like a cow chewing the cud. Shrugging his shoulders once, he says in a bored tone, "Yeah, it was OK, I guess."

Then, leaning forward in his seat, he focuses on me and flashes a lewd grin that should only be suitable for people over eighteen. "Though it would have been _more_ fun if Bella hadn't left so early," he adds.

My mind struggles to find something to say. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. It feels like I have a hundred people staring at me - but in reality it's only Mike, Jessica, and Edward. I need to push the spotlight off of me and onto something else. Preferably back on Jessica and the super-duper fun time she had with him that night.

"Umm... I doubt my absence really put a dent on the evening. It sounded as if you two had a really great time on your own," I reply, squirming in my seat.

"We really did," Jessica agrees while nodding her head up and down like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. She turns to Mike and stares at him with such a longing expression that I feel sorry for her. Having feelings for Mike can't be easy when he's completely ignoring you. "I think we should go back again sometime soon," she proposes with hope evident in her tone.

Mike stuffs in another tater tot and grunts like a caveman instead of giving her a response. He then looks straight at me and says, "Did I ever tell you the story about the time I went to Port Angeles and accidentally went into the wrong theater?"

He begins telling his story as if he is only talking to me. Embarrassed and horrified, I dart my eyes away from him and look down at my food. If Mike keeps lavishing me with attention, Jessica is going to _hate_ me.

While he yaps, I pretend to eat to avoid looking at him, wishing he would notice that I am not exactly hanging on to his every word. Jessica, however, is listening closely to his story of how he watched fifteen minutes of a computer animated movie before he realized that this wasn't the Nicholas Cage flick he wanted to see. She laughs uproariously whenever he makes a lame joke. She asks him questions as if this is the most interesting thing she has ever heard. She sounds like she is _enjoying_ his boring story.

What's _wrong_ with her?

I glance up to find that Mike is looking at her instead of me now. Jessica is soaking up the attention he is giving her, a happy smile on her face as she giggles up at him. It's so obvious that she likes him that Mike would have to be blind not to see it.

I turn briefly to Edward to see how he's taking this turn of events. There's a hint of a smile on his face as he cocks up his brow at me. I feel like we're having a conversation without having to speak. And he's silently telling me that having Jessica fawning all over Mike instead of him is the best present ever.

His green eyes flick away from me and land on Angela and Ben for a little while. His smile grows larger as he watches them. Ben seems to have lost some of his shyness since I last looked at him. He's telling Angela about some Bruce Lee movie he thinks she would like.

Since everyone at the table except Edward and me appears to be occupied, I decide that now is the perfect time to go over our tutoring agreement again. After all, he had all day yesterday to change his mind. There's a chance that he decided to back out of it...

"Edward," I call out, grabbing his attention. His eyes dart back to me and I take a gulp of air to suppress my nervousness. "I didn't realize until yesterday that we didn't decide what days to study on."

"Whenever is good for you is all right with me," he replies, dragging his fingers through his artfully messy hair.

"Oh... Then, how about we start tomorrow after school?" I suggest. I decide that this is better than saying "let's start today!" like I really want to tell him. There's no sense in making him think that I am a freak that is overly excited about having him sit at my kitchen table while he checks my trig homework.

Even though I am.

"I'll need to drop my brothers and sisters off first, but that sounds fine," Edward agrees with a nod of his head.

The mention of his family makes me want to look for them at their usual table. But once I find it, I'm surprised to see that no one is there.

Why is Edward at school today by himself? Is everyone else out sick?

"What _about_ tomorrow?" a voice gruffly asks nearby.

Whipping my head towards where the voice came from, I see Mike looking at me for a moment before glancing at Edward. I'm surprised he overheard us. Usually Mike doesn't notice what's going on around him while he's talking.

"Edward and I are study partners," I explain. "I need extra help in Trig."

Mike's eyes turn piercing for a couple of seconds as he glares at Edward. Then, after swiping up a napkin to clean his face off, his frown relaxes a little as he turns to address me.

"You know, Bella," he says in an eerily calm voice. "I could help you out. I'm good at studying. There's no need to get Edward involved."

Jessica's head pivots to the side, her eyes appearing lost and confused. "But didn't you get a D in Trig just last semester, Mike?"

Mike doesn't move a muscle for a few moments, only his eyes blink as he thinks of something to say to that. It's not often that you hear Jessica say something this astute.

"Technically, yeah I did," he reluctantly admits. "But that was just because I fell asleep a few times and it took me a while to catch back up. Other than that, I'm _great_ at Trig."

This info isn't exactly boosting my confidence in his ability to graduate high school, let alone guiding me to improve my test scores. There's no way I'm going to risk flunking Trigonometry just to make Mike feel better. Plus, I don't think I could take seeing him during _and_ after school. There's only so much of Mike I can take before my brain whips out the white flag and demands a break.

"Well, thanks for the offer, Mike, but Edward and I have already made arrangements," I softly explain.

Jessica's eyes light up and she turns to him. "I could use some help in Spanish," she hints wistfully. "I wish there was _someone_ who could help me."

Mike picks up his fork and knife and starts cutting up the food on his lunch tray. "Sounds like you need a tutor. I'm sure that Ms. Goff could help you find someone," he unconcernedly replies while stuffing his face full of chicken.

I can't hide my wince. He either is purposely trying to brush her off or he doesn't realize that she cares for him. Either way, it's hard to watch the outcome.

But Jessica is a resilient girl and doesn't give up without a fight. She recovers quickly and asks him when is the best time of year to enjoy a hike - as if outdoor life is what she lives and breathes. This sparks his interest and he launches into an elaborate explanation of the pros and cons of each season.

While they're distracted, I choose to go back to talking to Edward. Before Mike interrupted us, I had noticed something strange and had wanted to ask him about it. We're friends now. _I think_. It should be OK if I ask him a question or two.

"Where's your family today?"

He immediately stops chewing his food. Gradually, his jaw moves again and he swallows what's in his mouth.

"They...went out of town," he says slowly.

"How come you didn't go with them?"

He doesn't respond right away. He lifts up his bottle of water and drinks, his Adam's apple hypnotically bobbing up and down. After setting the water back on his tray, he answers my question.

"They're attracted to the outdoors," he replies. "Camping, hiking... hunting. The whole works. They have an innate need to leave civilization every so often. I'm not as inclined to spend my time out in the middle of nowhere. For _obvious_ reasons," he weakly smiles. "The last time I spent the night in the forest, I almost never woke up again," he trails off.

"They should be back home tonight," he goes on placidly, appearing largely unaffected by the subject. "Though I'm torn over how I should feel about their return. The last two days have been quite pleasant since it's been only Carlisle and Esme at the house."

"Who are they?"

"They're my adopted parents."

"Oh..."

A warm smile spreads across his face. "Don't get me wrong. I love them all every much, but some of them don't quite understand the concept of boundaries. It's nice to have a break every now and then."

"What do you mean?"

He laughs at my confusion and explains. "I'll give you an example and then perhaps you will understand. My sister Alice lives under the delusion that everyone enjoys waking up at the crack of dawn. She bangs on my door as soon as the sun rises and expects for me to be happy about it. I am not a morning person, so she and I have had a number of arguments over her early wake up calls. I've been taking her absence as a sort of miniature vacation."

"Ah. So having her back is going to put a damper into your peace and relaxation," I smirk.

"Yes. Though, oddly enough, her absence hasn't been as perfect as I had first believed it would be. This morning I woke up at dawn all by myself. I have discovered that being startled awake every morning for eight months straight eventually affects your internal alarm clock. So it appears that my dear sister has won in the end."

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "And don't even get me started on Emmett. I'll give you one word to sum up how life is when you live under the same roof as someone like him. _Pranks_."

Inside my head, I picture the humongous boy/man that is Emmett Cullen and try to imagine him pulling pranks like a frat boy. It's hard to believe. Emmett looks too intimidating to be a jokester.

My face must show my skepticism because Edward chuckles. "I'm serious," he insists. "Just last week he waited until I was out of the house so he could sneak into my bathroom and stuff chicken bouillon cubes inside the shower head. That night I took a shower in chicken broth. That's also when I found that all of my towels were inexplicably missing... I don't know what I'm going to do on April Fool's Day. I'm sure he has something especially devious planned," he dryly adds.

My face breaks into a grin and I laugh. "You're making me appreciate being an only child more and more."

The smile on his face slips slightly. "I was an only child myself once," he says musingly, his eyes downcast.

I stop laughing and look back at him sympathetically. If there is one thing that I have learned about Edward Masen since I have met him, it is this - for every smile or laugh he gives you, he pays with painful reminders of his past.

**00000000000000000000**

The next day I'm sitting in the kitchen trying to get a head start on my trig homework before Edward gets here. His family returned today just like he said and he drove them home after school.

School today wasn't nearly as stressful as it was yesterday. For some reason, Mike wasn't being as clingy with me as usual. Sure, he still yapped a lot but he never tried asking me out again. The only thing he did do that made me nervous was stare at me. During lunch, I caught him watching me while I was talking with Angela and Edward. His expression was strange too. It reminded me of someone who dazedly watches a TV show marathon for hours on end, eagerly waiting to see what will happen on the next episode.

At around four o'clock I hear a knock at the front door. I know it's Edward because no one else would be coming to visit me today. Well...there is the possibility that it's someone here to preach to me and save my soul. But this is Forks, the closest equivalent to Hell you can find. Most religious folks probably wouldn't want to be associated with a place like this.

"Come in!" I shout from the kitchen table. I left the front door unlocked for him so that he could just walk right on in. It's raining heavily outside and I doubt he would appreciate waiting for me to open the door.

I point my head back down at the worksheet Mr. Varner handed us today. It's filled with fifteen of the most irritatingly hard trig problems known to mankind. I've been working on the fourth one for what seems like forever.

A couple of minutes pass by. I'm not making any progress in solving the problem and I heave out a frustrated sigh. I look up from my work and rub my eyes with my knuckles. Then I notice something that I should have realized much sooner.

Edward hasn't come in yet.

He must still be standing outside the front door. And it's _pouring_ rain out there. He's going to be soaked!

I jump out of my chair and try to rush out of the kitchen, my feet sliding out from under me as I run across the slick wooden floor. I catch myself from falling by hanging onto the counter. Once I straighten up, I walk more carefully out into the living room.

My eyes are focused on the front door, wondering how upset Edward will be since he's been waiting in the cold rain for so long. I pass by the TV, then Charlie's recliner, the couch, the little table that holds the lamp, the fireplace, Edward...

_Edward?!_

My head snaps back around and my feet lock in place. I stare at him as if he is a ghost that suddenly appeared in my house. Edward has his back to me, his arms folded across his chest, as he stands in front of the fireplace. He's in jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt. The coppery hair on his head is slightly damp, so it's laying down flatter than usual. He stands stock still, making no effort to move.

Why didn't he come looking for me? And why is he in here looking at the fireplace? Hasn't he seen one before?

I hear him softly laugh and my confusion mounts. What's so funny about the fireplace? It's not like-

Suddenly I'm gasping for air. Whatever I was just thinking about instantly dissolves.

I realize exactly why he's staring at the fireplace.

He's being entertained by the dozens of photographs of me on the mantel.

These are not just any photographs, mind you. They are the most embarrassing, humiliating, _horrific_ pictures of me you could come up with. It's like a freak show up there - but one that stars only me.

There's me as a toddler screaming with snot running from my nose the time I sat on Shopping Mall Santa's lap.

There's me at thirteen with a gigantic zit on my forehead. That certainly made for a great yearbook photo.

There's me after I was knocked down by a wave when Charlie took me to the beach. Being photographed while almost drowning certainly made for a Kodac moment.

_Oh, look_. There's me when I lost my front teeth. My appearance was enhanced by the haircut Mom gave me. She didn't exactly have the skills to cut it evenly, so she was forced to keep cutting more and more. By the time she was done, I looked more like a Beau than a Bella.

I've always hated these things. I've tried to talk Charlie into letting me set them on fire - or at least putting them in the attic - but he won't listen. He seems to enjoy looking at pictures that make his daughter look like a troll that resides under a bridge.

And now Edward has gotten an eye full of me at my worst. How is he not projectile vomiting? I know I want to.

"What are you doing?" I ask accusingly. I hope he hasn't stolen one of them and plans on showing them to everyone at Forks High tomorrow. Because if that's the case, I'm hopping the next Greyhound bus out of town.

He swings around to face me, a pleased smile on his lips. Slipping his hands into his pockets, his eyes gleam mischievously. "I wasn't sure where you were, so I decided to stay here and admire the artwork until you appeared," he says with an undercurrent of amusement.

My cheeks flush cherry red. He's definitely teasing me. There's nothing to "admire" on that mantel except for the picture of Charlie and Mom the day they were married in Vegas. Everything else up there could go to the dump as far as I care.

"I was in the kitchen," I uneasily explain. "Just... Stop looking at those things and come with me."

He silently chuckles again but does as I ask. Scooping up his books from the table at the front door, he follows me to the back of the house where the kitchen sits. He drags out the chair next to where I had been sitting and gets right to business.

"I see that you've already started," he observes aloud. "How have you done so far?"

Crinkling my nose, I take a seat and glare at my homework. "Good and bad. I think I was doing fine until I got to number 4. I've been stuck on it for the past few minutes."

"Can I take a look?"

"Sure. Go ahead," I say as I push the paper towards him.

He hunches over a little to look at the worksheet. I nervously - and maybe a bit creepily - watch as he studies my work. His face does interesting things when he is concentrating on something. A faint line between his eyebrows appears, giving his face a pensive quality. His eyes move around erratically while scanning the paper.

"I think I see the problem," he announces, his eyes popping up and focusing on me. I look back fearfully, worried that he caught me staring. But he doesn't seem to have noticed a thing. Instead he places his index finger on the problem and says, "You accidentally put the cosine where the tangent should be. See?"

In disbelief, I drag my chair a little closer and look at my worksheet. It takes a while for me to rework the problem, but I soon see that he is correct.

I am an idiot.

"I can't believe that," I say, rolling my eyes at my own stupidity. "This is why I hate Trig. If you put one number in the wrong place, everything messes up."

After his help, I tackle the rest of the worksheet while he works on his own. We don't say anything for a while as we both focus on our homework.

I'm done before him, but it's not because I am a genius. It's because I had a head start on the worksheet. He's done with his soon afterwards and I decide that it's my turn to help him with English.

"Have you finished _The Lady Or The Tiger? _and the worksheet yet?"

"I read the story already, but I haven't done the worksheet," he replies.

I stare back at him bewildered. That story is short, simple, and easy to understand. Edward should be able to complete the worksheet blindfolded.

"Why not?"

"Because I wanted to get a second opinion on this question," he smoothly explains, his finger pointing at the very last question on the paper.

_"Which door did the princess direct her lover to open, the door with the lady or the one with the tiger?" _I read. Looking up from his paper, I arch my brow at him. "Edward, why haven't you done that question yet? I think I know enough about you by now to know that this should be an easy question for you to solve by yourself."

The question is laughably easy. All you have to do is give your opinion. There's no way that you can answer incorrectly.

Edward casually rests his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on the table. With an enigmatic smile, he says, "I never said that I didn't know how to answer it. It's more like, I want to hear how _you_ would answer it. Don't you find that rhetorical questions always seem to lead to more questions?"

"All right," I smile. "I believe that the princess chose to save her lover by indicating to him that he should open the door with the lady behind it."

"Why?" he fires back, his eyes glowing.

"Because she loved him."

Edward looks back at me askance, evidently disagreeing with my assessment. He goes on to argue that the princess was a cruel, selfish woman who wouldn't be able to stand watching the man she loves marrying another woman - even if it did mean that his life was saved. Edward tells me that he believes that the princess would tell him to open the door that had the tiger behind it to keep him out of the arms of anyone else. Obviously, Edward is a cynic when it comes to true love.

"What would you have done if you had been in her shoes?" I ask curiously. "Would you rather watch the love of your life be with someone else in order to save them, or would you rather condemn them to death?"

"Neither choice sounds particularly pleasant," he frowns.

"Who ever said that love was pleasant?" I point out, faintly smiling. "Maybe that's one of the points of the story. Love will sometimes force you into making decisions that you may not like to make. The princess was put in the position of-"

"Bella?" yells someone from the living room.

I glance at the clock across the room. It's a few minutes past 4:30. Charlie's home earlier than normal.

"In the kitchen," I yell back.

"There's a car parked out by the street," Charlie says as he walks towards the back of the house. "Have you seen anybody-"

His mouth clamps shut as soon as he appears at the kitchen door. Charlie stands frozen in shock. He looks at Edward. Looks at me. Then looks at Edward again and remains locked on his face for an uncomfortably long time.

"Hello, Chief Swan," Edward politely greets him.

Charlie goes on staring, immobilized in place, for a few beats longer - not even blinking his eyes. His thick, Tom Selleck mustache is the first to show signs of life. It wiggles and twitches as if it's doing a merry dance on his face. But I know that this seemingly innocent body language means something besides happiness. It means that Dad is wary and suspicious.

"Oh," Charlie eventually responds. "Um, yes... Hello." Despite the greeting, he reverts right back to awkwardly staring at Edward, making me more embarrassed now than I was when I caught Edward looking at my pictures on the mantel.

I loudly clear my throat, reminding my father that I am in the room as well. "Dad, this is my study partner. He's helping me bring up my grade in Trig." This is a subtle hint to him that Edward is my guest here for a reason, not a criminal he can try to intimidate.

Charlie's dark brown eyes dart to my face. "I see," he drawls speculatively, pursing his mouth. "I didn't know that you needed help with your school work." Glancing back at the boy beside me, his eyes narrow. "Edward, wasn't it?" he asks gruffly.

"Yes, sir. Edward Masen," he replies, his voice exuding a soothing formality in spite of the ridiculous scrutiny Charlie is putting him through.

Charlie glares at Edward a bit longer. Then, he looks at me. "So, this is going to be a regular thing?" he roughly presses.

I have to force myself not to do an eye roll at him. Could he act any more unwelcoming? I'm surprised he's not growling and snarling just because Edward is sitting in his usual chair at the table.

"Yeah, we'll be meeting here twice a week," I reply.

He grunts and squints his eyes suspiciously at Edward. "Are you staying for dinner?"

Edward shakes his head, remaining unaffected by the unfriendly vibe Charlie is giving off. I guess dealing with Mike for so long has prepared him for occasions just like this one. "No, sir. I promised my mother that I would be home to eat with the family."

Charlie's deeply furrowed eyebrows relax slightly. He watches us for a moment or two more, then nods his head. "Well... I'll be in the next room if you two need me," he says as he begins to leave the kitchen.

I release the lungful of air that I had been holding and slouch in my chair. Charlie acted like a primitive caveman who sees a member of a rival clan on his territory - even though he had no good reason to be so hostile towards Edward. But I guess I shouldn't be too mad at him. It could have been worse.

Charlie takes a step towards the living room, stops in his tracks, and snaps his head around to look at us again - or more specifically, Edward. "I better go hang up the gun now," he says significantly, eyeing Edward as he walks away. "Wouldn't want any _accidents_."

My jaw drops open.

Queue crippling embarrassment... _now_.

"Dad!" I yelp. But he doesn't return.

I can't let him get away with this. It would set a bad precedent. If I can't have a friend over to study with me, what's next? No talking on the phone after eight o'clock? If we're going to live together, I will need to solve this problem quickly.

I turn to Edward and say, "Excuse me for a minute. I need to go set Charlie straight on a few things."

"It's all right, Bella," he faintly smiles. "I understand. He's just worried about you. I don't blame him for trying to protect his daughter."

I roll my eyes and laugh. He might see where Charlie is coming from, but I can't. It must be something you can only understand if you possess both an X and Y chromosome.

"He's not protecting me," I retort. "He's threatening _you_. And I _do_ take exception to that. You wait here while I go remind him that threatening a teenager with a gun is _probably_ against the law."

I stomp into the living room with my hands balled up. I have my hands like this because I otherwise would be too tempted to strangle my father.

He's shrugging off his jacket with his back turned towards me, taking his sweet time to hang it on the coat rack. He probably heard me coming into the room and knows that I am waiting to talk to him. And he wants to put it off for as long as possible.

"What was that all about?" I huff irritably once he hangs his gun belt up on the hook on the wall.

"What?" he asks as he turns around.

"You know good and well '_what_' I'm talking about," I snap, tipping my head towards his service revolver.

"Oh. That," he mumbles, his mustache dancing a nervous jig. Good. He _should_ be nervous.

"Yes. _That_," I flatly confirm with eyes narrowed. "You just threatened to shoot someone, Dad!"

"I didn't threaten. I _warned_ him. There's a difference."

I bark out a humorless laugh at his faulty logic. "OK. So you were '_warning him_'," I say using air quotes. "Please, do share with me what you were warning him about. I think it would be nice if I can at least give him a heads up on what he has done wrong before you go brandishing your firearm at him."

Charlie's forehead wrinkles downwards. "I would never pull out a gun like that," he assures me. Yet before I can take comfort in that assurance, he adds, "Unless I had to."

"Well, you implied it," I glare at him, crossing my arms at my chest. "So what's the deal? Why did you do it? Do you even realize how humiliated you made me feel just now?"

He looks down at the floor to avoid looking at me. "I don't like the idea of you being alone with that kid," he grumbles.

"Why?" I ask, cocking up a brow. "Do you think he's a danger to me? A threat? What do you think he's going to do, Dad? Attack me with his number two pencil? Give me a paper cut?"

His eyes harden at my sarcastic attitude. "Don't be so naïve. He is a t_eenage boy_. Every boy that age since the dawn of time thinks about only one thing, Bells." Charlie's index finger stabs towards me to make his point, and he says with added emphasis, "And you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Having him here - alone with you - is just _asking_ for trouble."

Charlie may be a no nonsense cop that has the power to arrest criminals and interrogate suspects, but he still can't say the word "_sex_" in front of his daughter. Admittedly, I can't say it to him either. There's just some things that Fathers and Daughters should never openly discuss. However, I can use this weakness of his to my advantage.

"Oh. You're telling me that no boy can resist sitting near a girl without being able to keep their hands to themselves? Is that what you're saying?"

"_Exactly_," he says, nodding his head in agreement.

"So I guess you're speaking from experience then?"

Charlie's head snaps up to look me in the eye. "Huh?"

"You know. Seeing as how you're a man, that means you were once a teenage boy, too. According to you, that means that when you were a teenager, all you did was try to feel up helpless females. Right?"

"N-no!" he sputters. "I would never-" His face even reddens up like a tomato. _Perfect_.

"But, Dad," I say with false innocence. "I don't understand. You just told me that all boys are dangerous and can't be trusted."

"They _are_ dangerous. But I was...different. I would _never_...you know, take advantage of a young girl. No matter what age I am, I would never do that. I was taught to be respectful of women. And as for that boy in there, I may not know him very well but I _do_ know that he's an irresponsible kid. There's...things about him that you don't know about."

I shake my head at him and keep my voice low. "You're wrong, Dad. Just because he made a mistake once upon a time and you had to help him doesn't mean that he's not responsible. He was going through a lot in his life back then. He just moved here and had trouble adjusting to the change. You can't hold what happened out in the woods against him forever. Remember how you felt after Grandma Swan died? You were depressed for weeks. You called in sick to work for days. And you were already an adult. Imagine going through that at seventeen, _Dad_."

Charlie's eyes widen, appearing surprised that I know about the incident he was hinting at.

"Actually, you and Edward have a lot in common," I continue without pausing. "He has _loads_ of morals. He's polite and considerate of others. The teachers all love him. And he hasn't done _anything_ inappropriate. Even when you were beating your chest like a mountain gorilla in the kitchen, he was civil to you. So I think you're jumping to conclusions about him. All we're trying to do is study. He's helping me with trig, I'm helping him in English. _That's_ _it_."

Charlie's face contorts into a scowl. He hates it when I'm right and he's wrong.

Feeling powerful and confident, I decide to break some potentially upsetting news to him since I am on a roll. "Oh, Dad? By the way... We're having lima beans tonight for dinner along with the pork chops and mac and cheese. And you're going to _eat _them without complaining."

Charlie has an aversion to anything healthy. If it's not dripping in some sort of sauce or butter, he turns his nose up at it. He will consider eating them as a punishment.

"Lima beans," he repeats, his lip curled with distaste. "They taste like dirt. I thought you said we were having mashed potatoes?"

"I don't have time to wash, peel, boil, and mash potatoes tonight. I have homework to do. _Maybe_ if you had let me work in peace with Edward instead of distracting us, I could have finished in time to make it. Lima beans are a lot easier to cook."

He scowls at me for about ten seconds. "Fine," he grumpily says, his lips pouting. "I'll put up with 'em. But that doesn't mean I'll like 'em... And if they know what's good for them, they'd better stay _far_ across the table from you. And _no_ touching!"

He then shuffles over to the recliner to watch TV, ending our discussion.

I may not be the smartest girl in the world, but I have a feeling that he wasn't talking about lima beans anymore.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- **

**Next Chapter\- Bella becomes accustomed to having a certain somebody in her kitchen. And evil incarnate sits with her at lunch (and, no, it's not Mike).**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	11. Building A Mystery

**Chapter 11- Building A Mystery**

**March 1, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

_"He is a friend."_

That has become my mantra, the chant I repeat in my head numerous times per day to keep my thoughts in check. It's what I remind myself each time Edward playfully winks to let me know that whatever he just said was a joke and shouldn't be taken seriously. It's what I remind myself when he is concentrating on his homework and his full lips pucker out ever so slightly, looking soft yet firm at the same time.

And he _is_ my friend. I like being around him. Despite his good looks and adopted family's wealth, he isn't vain or arrogant. He doesn't cockily check himself out whenever he passes by reflective surfaces. Nor does he roll up his shirt sleeves and flex his biceps to impress me (though I wouldn't complain if he did). He doesn't brag about his accomplishments or smirk condescendingly if he knows a subject better than I do. He is genuinely a nice person to hang out with.

At school he has taken to watching out for my safety. There has been many times that I have tripped over a book, tree root, or the thin air, and before I fall down, he's right there catching me. I don't know if I'm just not noticing when he is nearby or if he has a teleport system similar to the one on _Star Trek_, but I'm nearly always stunned when he magically appears like that. Once he sees that I can stand on my own, he grins, pats me on the shoulder, and immediately strolls away as if saving me from making an ass of myself has become a normal, everyday occurrence to him.

When I was younger, I liked jigsaw puzzles. Mom would buy one every so often and I would devote hours of my time in trying to put the pieces together. As each jagged-edged piece matched up with its mate, my determination to complete the puzzle mounted. If it was a large, complex puzzle that required more of my time than one day would allow, I would get antsy and restless until I could get back to solving it.

Being away from Edward feels that way.

There's an air of mystery around him that is difficult to explain. He seems to be an honest, straightforward type of guy, but I sometimes get the feeling that he holds himself back. As if there's parts of himself that he purposely keeps hidden from the world.

He isn't much of a talker in public. Everyone takes notice of him but he balks at the limelight. Usually he prefers to watch and listen to what is going on around him instead of taking part in the conversation. When he does speak, I find myself hanging on to his every word, hoping that he will reveal another facet of his personality that I can add to what I already know about him.

It isn't until he is alone at my house does he open up more. Sometimes I can even wrangle information out of him. He doesn't talk about the Cullens very often, but I can see from his small smiles that he admires Dr. and Mrs. Cullen very much. Once, he remarked that Esme fusses over him more than a mother hen, but I think he is too polite to say much to discourage her. Last week, Edward told me that one of Carlisle's new patients had been incorrectly diagnosed for years, and it wasn't until the doctor ran a few tests based on only a hunch did they discover that the man had a rare genetic disease. Now, Edward proudly shared, the patient was taking the appropriate medication and was well on his way to living a more stable life.

Rarely does Edward mention his life before he moved to Forks. If the subject of our conversation gets too close for comfort, his face often transforms into an expressionless mask and he steers the topic to other things. Reining back my curiosity, I go along with it.

But there is more to the puzzle of Edward Masen than just mysteriousness concerning his past. He isn't like most of the other teenagers that live in Forks - or anywhere else that I have ever lived for that matter. While they are listening to the latest pop song or imitating the rap styles coming from their car stereo, I'll sometimes hear Edward quietly humming some mellow sonota while we study. When the other students are using slang terms like "_phat_", he uses words like "_fortuitous_" and uses it correctly in his sentences - a rarity for our generation.

With him, it's always _hello_,_ good evening_, and _goodbye_. It's never _hi_, _what's up_, or _see_ _ya' later_. His speech is formal and crisp, boasting a warm, honeyed voice that is pleasing to the ear. Yet, despite the formality, he somehow makes it feel natural and not at all unusual. All I can say is that it suits him. If tomorrow he showed up and said, "Hey, how's it going, Bella!" and sounded identical to everyone else at school, it would feel as though he were trying to be something that he is not. And I prefer genuineness to conformity.

I've tried to come up with explanations as to why a boy his age talks like he stepped out from a Percy Shelley poem. One hypothesis is that he went to some fancy private school in Chicago. Maybe the teachers there were aristocratic British expats who forced their American students to only speak in the proper "Queen's English". This theory has the added benefit of explaining why he has such impeccable manners. Those fussy teachers probably whacked his knuckles with a ruler whenever he slouched or ate with the wrong dinner fork.

Although it's not often that he discusses personal matters, he isn't afraid of speaking his mind. Call me paranoid, but I think Edward intensionally tosses out controversial comments just to see how I will react. What he says is never inappropriate. It always involves school, literature, or something of equal blandness. But it almost always blows me away.

For example, while we were busy focusing on our worksheets on Act I of _Macbeth_, he stopped concentrating on his paper and looked me straight in the eye.

"I was just thinking," he began, his eyes squinting musingly. "Shakespeare wrote plays such as _Macbeth_ where there is barely one main character that has any moral integrity. So by the end, when many of them are dead and gone, you don't mind it very much because they were largely comprised of self-absorbed, petty human beings.

"Now let's take a look at a play like _Romeo and Juliet._ The main characters are advertised as being one of literature's greatest lovers. Star-crossed, and all that. However, if you peel back the layers, I think that you will find that they were just as flawed as Macbeth or his wife. Romeo and Juliet were merely young, selfish, naïve kids that did not know each other well enough to say if they were really in love or not. They are grossly overrated as a couple in my opinion."

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. I couldn't believe what I was hearing coming from this seemingly intelligent boy. He _had_ to be kidding me.

"What? You can't be serious," I said in shock.

"I certainly am serious," he placidly replied, leaning back in his chair. "Take Romeo, for example. At the beginning of the play, the boy speaks of his infatuation with Rosaline as if he believes that she is the only girl for him. Yet, as soon as he sees Juliet, he immediately switches his fixation to her. Don't you find that to be disloyal to the first girl? He is far too fickle with his affections to be taken seriously. Then, on top of all that, Romeo murdered Juliet's cousin. That alone should have been an indicator that the honeymoon wouldn't end well," he wryly adds.

Just the words _Romeo_ and _fickle_ being used together was enough to set me off. I launched into a fiery defence of Romeo and of the play itself. I told Edward that one of the things that makes the play timeless is the fact that their love was so instantaneous and all-encompassing. I told him that it wasn't Romeo's fault that Tybalt had to die, the guy was way too antagonistic for his own good. And as for Rosaline, Romeo early on may have thought he was in love with her but he really wasn't. He had to meet Juliet to realize that their love was more powerful than what he had ever felt for Rosaline.

Much later that night, I realized that I spent ten minutes explaining how Edward was wrong and I was right. He willingly sat there and listened to me ramble on about an Elizabethan era tragedy that most people only have a passing interest in. Not only that, he was the one that instigated the conversation in the first place. It makes me believe that he likes classic literature as much as I do. Or maybe he just likes to see me ranting and raving like a crazy person. That would explain why he left the house with a smile that day.

Sometimes he'll say something seemingly insignificant during casual conversation, but the way his face changes expression makes me believe that there is more to the story than he let's on.

One day after school, I was thinking back on the time when Edward mentioned that he had once been a boy scout. I asked him if he had told me the truth. He answered with a yes and added that he joined the group as a young child. I laughed at the thought of a city boy like him needing to know which wild berries he can safely eat in Chicago. But he surprised me by rattling off half a dozen reasons why it helped him in his every day life that had very little to do with the outdoors. As a joke, I mentioned that all I learned at that time of my life was how to paste macaroni noodles to construction paper and how to shove cookies into my mouth like Cookie Monster.

"Who?" Edward questioned, his brows knitted together.

"You know. _Cookie Monster_. From _Sesame Street_?"

He stared at me, blinked a few times, then shook his head. "I'm not familiar with that place."

At first, I assumed that he was either kidding or too embarrassed to admit that he used to love Elmo as much as I once did. "Oh come on, Edward. Everyone watched that show at least once when they were kids," I laughed, rolling my eyes.

As soon as those words left my mouth, his emerald green eyes sharpened. "Well that explains it then," he quietly muttered. Then, in a louder voice, he said, "Before I moved here, I never watched television. I watch it on certain occasions now, but on the whole, I avoid it like the plague."

My smile fell into a thin line, realizing that he wasn't kidding. It's one thing to say that you don't watch it very often. But never? That's almost unheard of.

"Never?" I pressed skeptically.

He shook his head slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on my face. "Never."

I leaned forward in my chair and swallowed nervously. Now I was bursting with so much curiosity that I could barely stand it. "Why not?" I pressed gently. Although I knew that I was treading on shaky territory when it comes to his past, I was hopeful that he would give me some sort of an answer.

His eyes dropped down to the table and the corner of his mouth twitched. He remained quiet for several moments. Once that time passed, he meet my gaze head-on and held it, barely blinking.

"My family was different from what you may be accustomed to," he said in a velvety voice. "We were eccentric in comparison to most people that live around here. In our spare time we read, listened to music, went to plays, and occasionally the movie theater. But television was never considered an option." A smile, faint and enigmatic, appeared on his face. "I suppose you could say that my parents didn't believe in it. And since we never watched it, we never missed it."

Thanks to that insight, I now picture his family in Chicago as being those paranoid types of people that believe the government is using the TV to broadcast subliminal messages, so they banned it from their household before Edward was born. They probably had tons of dry rations stored in a bomb shelter in their backyard, waiting for the day that us TV watchers finally went mad and started ravaging the city.

I probably wouldn't know as much as I do know about him if it wasn't for the fact that he comes to my house far more often than we originally agreed upon. He was supposed to come only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But by that first Friday, he mentioned that an upcoming Spanish quiz had him worried. I told him to drop by my house after school and I would see if I could help.

Then, the next Monday, I said that I didn't understand that day's trig assignment and could use some extra help.

I lied.

He followed me home and helped me with my homework that afternoon. I should have felt ashamed for dragging him to my kitchen and making him teach me something that I already knew how to do, but I really had no choice. It was either I lie shamelessly, or I admit that going back to an empty house where I wouldn't see his face or hear his voice depressed me. Lying was the better, less embarrassing option.

After that day, I utilized every excuse I could think of to get him to hang out with me after school. US Government quiz preparations. Trig tests. Biology extra credit that I didn't need. It got to where I was disappointed when our teachers didn't assign us homework. If that's not a sign that I have become a pathetic loser, then I'd like to see an example of someone who is.

But at least he has gone along with it so far without complaining. For the past month, he has come to my house every school day. By the second week, I didn't need to come up with a reason for him to come over. It gradually became normal for him to just show up and study with me. No excuses required. I liked this turn of events very much.

So now I am addicted to having him around. He smiles at my lame attempts at making jokes. I laugh when he says something snarky and witty. He even keeps me company while I get dinner started. During these times, I try not to fall, cut, burn, or similarly humiliate myself while in his presence - but that is almost impossible. Combining my clumsiness with his distracting voice and face really isn't safe. There have been many near disasters. Usually, after I have burned a knuckle on the stove or something equally dumb, Edward will try to whip out his cellphone and say that Carlisle should take a look at it. I'll tell him that I'm fine but rarely does he believe me. It takes a lot of convincing to make him realize that I'm not injured enough for medical attention.

Charlie has taken Edward's increased appearances at the house exactly as I had anticipated. At first, he grumbled and stomped around the living room whenever he came home and saw Edward's car parked at the street. But after I showed Charlie proof that my trig grades were improving, he couldn't gripe as much. So now the worst he does is sulk. And spy on us. And ask me if I'm OK every so often. Yes, it's annoying, but as long as he doesn't try to ban Edward outright, I'll take it.

My low points are the weekends. I have no excuse to see Edward then. There's no more homework till Monday, and I can't bring myself to ask him if he wants to hang out just for the fun of it. What if he were to tell me that he has better things to do than entertain me? So, I spend my weekend moping around the house, either cleaning or staring forlornly at my bedroom ceiling until there is something more exciting to do. But since this is Forks, there never is. Hanging around someone that is actually interesting has obviously spoiled me.

I did try to find something fun to do on my own. After all, before I moved here, I was a loner. I was happy being alone. So one Saturday, I grabbed my truck keys and headed to the Forks Public Library. They have books, I reasoned. Books are my friend. They will occupy my attention and keep me sane until Monday.

I knew the library existed thanks to the telephone book, but it was hell to find. I drove up and down the main road trying to track it down. It wasn't until I made my third pass through town did I spot it nestled between a pawn broker and a shoe repair shop. I parked the truck and stared at it incredulously, not quite believing my eyes. No wonder I didn't see it at first. It was tiny. Charlie's living room was bigger than that place.

I stepped inside of the small library and saw that the town's entire collection of books was just a fraction of what a normal, well-stocked library would have. I tried not to be too discouraged. I told myself not to judge the place too harshly. I told myself to give it a chance. I might find a decent book somewhere in there despite outward appearances.

I never did.

All of the books looked to be decades old, and in many cases, torn and falling apart. The ones that were in better shape proved to be disappointing. I saw DIY books on how to repair septic systems and building barns out of discarded pallets. There were books on how to make your chickens happy and healthy. I found books on the fungi and mushrooms that can be found on the Olympic Peninsula. One book from the '50s advised me on how to keep my husband happy by serving him dinner promptly and always smiling - even if I don't feel like it. Books that a normal, average person might want to check out were nonexistent. I left empty-handed and went back home to read one of my own books. I would rather reread a classic novel than bother with anything they had on the shelves.

I knew before I even left Phoenix that life in Forks would be different. I knew I wouldn't have all the niceties that a large city has to offer. I knew I would be bored sometimes. I knew that I would miss my mom. These things were no surprise.

But I never knew that my life could flip upside down just because of one person. In the past few weeks, I've went from having nightmares of being trapped here forever to having dreams of a smooth, deep voice whispering soft words into my ear. I can never remember what he says in my dreamworld, but it never fails to put me in a better mood when I wake up in the mornings. I don't give the dark gray clouds the stink eye quite as much either. How could I? Soon, I will be at school and see a smile that rivals anything the sun can do.

This morning is no different.

Pulling into the school parking lot, I see his silver Volvo parked near the office building. Seeing that Edward is already here sends my spirits skyward, making me smile too. I can't help it. I think I have already established that I have a crush that's lingering around for longer than I thought it would. And knowing that he's around somewhere makes me happier than I care to admit.

Parked next to the Volvo is a humongous Jeep that I've seen Emmett drive. Edward stopped chauffeuring his siblings to and from school a few weeks back. Now that he comes by my house most afternoons, he drives alone. The rest of them car pool in either Emmett's Jeep or Rosalie's ruby red BMW that costs around a zillion dollars. I should probably feel guilty for forcing them to rearrange their school transportation, but Edward assured me that it was fine and not to worry about it. I'll sometimes see Alice grinning at me from afar and that does make me feel better. If she's smiling that must mean that she doesn't mind the added hassle too much.

I walk across the lot, dodging parked cars and students, and head towards my first class of the day. As quickly as possible, I pass around a couple of girls that appear more interested in gossiping about the latest news than getting to class before the bell rings. Then, as I make my way around the corner of the Math building, a face plastered with an oafish grin pops in front of me.

"Hey, Bella!" a voice screeches like a capuchin monkey.

I flinch and my throat makes a startled gasp, sounding eerily similar to a dying goat. Books, papers, pencils, and my butt plummets to the damp sidewalk. I think I scraped the palm of my hand, and my right shoe has landed in a mud puddle. So now instead of wearing two white, squeaky clean sneakers today, I now have one in splotchy, wet brown. _Great_.

Besides the times when I'm in gym class, I haven't fallen down like this in weeks. I've become used to Edward swooping in from the sidelines and catching me before I make contact with the ground. So where is he this morning when I need him? Oh, that's right. He's in class. Because he has better things to do other than saving me every five seconds.

_Sigh_...

From my sprawled position on the sidewalk, I squint up at whoever it was that scared me to death. The person is looking down at me with wide, astonished eyes. His mouth is shaped like the letter O. At least he appears sorry for what he made me do.

But then, like the inbred idiot that he is, a dopey grin reappears on his face.

"Man! That was a rough landing!" Tyler chirps perkily. "You should really watch where you're going!"

It's hard for me not to shoot him a well-aimed middle finger, but somehow I manage to control myself. I limit my annoyance to a pointed glare which he probably won't notice anyway.

"Yeah. I guess you're right," I agree with clenched teeth.

I stand up and regather my scattered possessions. Tyler watches and points out things I missed. He doesn't actually make himself useful but he definitely thinks he is doing me a favor. I don't have the heart to break it to him.

Once I'm done, I tell him a quick bye and try to pass around him before he can suck me into a conversation that I can't escape from. He stopped bothering me about the car accident a couple of weeks ago and I don't think I have ever been so relieved. From that time forward, we have kept our interactions mainly to a brief _hi_ or hand wave. But since he has sought me out this morning, I am _very_ worried that he wants to go back to asking if he can tune my truck's engine or scrub out my locker.

Instead of taking the hint that I don't want to talk, he joins me at my side and walks with an odd strut, his backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. He flips his long, shaggy hair out of his eyes and says, "Guess what?"

"Hmm?" I grumble, looking straight ahead.

"You gotta guess first!"

I heave out a sigh and my shoulders sag. I'm not prepared for this. If I had known that Tyler was going to pounce on me so early, I would have faked stomach cramps and told Charlie that I was having "lady issues".

"You're moving?" I ask, kind of wishing that I had a magic lamp that could make my sarcastic statement come true.

Throwing back his head, he laughs like a loon, thinking that I made a joke. "No way! This is _good_ news. Not bad!"

I snap my mouth shut before I can inform him that our opinions in regard to good and bad news must be widely different.

Continuing on, he says, "I'll give ya a riddle to make it easier for you to guess. My dad bought me something that's metal, has wheels on it, and it usually stays near the garage."

"You got another car?" I gasp in disbelief. This is _terrible_ news. Now that I know him a little better, I can't imagine _anyone_ thinking that it's a good idea for him to be driving anything more advanced than a ten-speed bicycle. He doesn't pay attention to his surroundings. He's easily distracted. And knowing him, he probably thinks the rearview mirror is there just for making sure your hair looks all right.

Another bright grin lights his face. "Whoa! You guessed it right on the first try! My dad gave me that same riddle last night and I thought he was talking about a garbage can. You sure are smarter than you look!"

"Thanks," I mumble under my breath.

"You're welcome... It's a Nissan Sentra. My dad found it at a used car lot in Tacoma and bought it on the spot. I think you're gonna love it once you see it!"

Tyler looks so proud of himself that I try to hide my terror. Now that he will be on the road again, the whole town is in trouble. I slap on a fake smile and say, "Well, that's great. I'm sure you'll be very happy now that you can come and go as you please."

"No kiddin'!" he guffaws. "I'm dying to get out of town. I'm thinking of maybe heading to Port Angeles in a few days."

"Oh. That sounds nice," I remark as I step closer to my English class.

"Yeah. It gets great gas mileage. Twenty-nine in the city, and up to thirty-nine on the highway. I'll save tons of my allowance now that I won't need to spend as much on gas. That means I'll have plenty of money to use for anything I want. Like video games. Clothes. _Dates_."

"That's nice."

"And it's really safe too! It got an A rating overall in its crash tests. It's much safer than that old _van_."

"That's great," I hum. Now that we're in front of my building, I add, "Well, this is my class. See ya later, Tyler."

I'm walking into the classroom when I hear him shout behind me, "You can come check it out after school if ya want! It's blue! With pin stripes down the sides!"

**00000000000000000000**

Like every school day of late, I get fidgety once the clock hits noon. One of two things will happen today. In scenario one, Edward will sit at my regular table in the cafeteria and I can talk to him. In scenario two, he will sit with his family. I don't like the second scenario very much. You would think that since he's my lab partner in my very next class that I wouldn't mind if he doesn't feel like hanging around me right now. But you would be wrong. I haven't seen or spoken to him since yesterday afternoon. I feel edgy and restless, my knee bouncing anxiously under the table. This must be what it feels like for a drug addict to quit cold turkey.

I'm sitting at my table, pretending to be interested in my lunch and not what Edward is planning to do today. I see him standing in the lunch line with Emmett, so it shouldn't be long before I find out.

Angela sits to my right. She's been quiet ever since Jessica started talking about some dumb school dance that's coming up in a couple of weeks. Jessica yapped about the theme for five minutes straight, proudly reminding us that she's on the dance committee and is in charge of putting up the decorations.

Mike is sitting to my left. He tried telling me something about fly-fishing, but thankfully Jessica distracted him by asking how you would even catch a fly in the first place. Now he's busy explaining the finer details of the sport and temporarily forgetting that he was talking to me originally. He still doesn't seem all that interested in starting a relationship with Jessica, but she presses on stoically. She makes sure to sit with him every chance she gets, which is great since it keeps Mike from devoting his concentration entirely on me. Jessica will giggle and twirl her hair around her finger as she urges him to tell her about his day. Never one to walk away from the opportunity of spreading his vast knowledge to the world, he will then give her what she wants - attention.

Across the table from me, a chair is yanked out and Tyler plops down onto the seat. "Hey, Bella!" he blurts. "I didn't finish telling you about my car. Did you know that it has loads of leg room?"

"No. I didn't," I say with mounting confusion. Tyler usually sits with his friends near the trash bins. They spend their lunch hour pretending that they are basketball players and try to toss their unwanted food into the cans. Why he is over here and missing out on all that fun is a mystery to me.

"Yeah! It's got so much leg room that, if you were a passenger, you could stretch out and relax while I drive," he exuberantly reveals.

My forehead scrunches down, bewildered by why he is sharing this information. "Uh..."

"And the passenger seat is super comfy! It's leather!" His head flops to the side and he adds, "Well...it's really just seat covers but you can't tell the difference... And it's not really leather. They're made from some sorta plastic that only looks like real leather. Dad bought them cause the last owner must'a spilled mustard all over the driver seat. The covers still kinda have a funky smell too, but I'm sure it will clear out soon."

Why is he telling me all of this? Is he trying to sell me his car?

"Oh. That's interesting," is all I can think to say.

He then starts talking about it's safety record again in greater detail, chatting about air bags and seat belts. He shares how his dad made him reread the state's driver's handbook before he could get behind the wheel. Now, he claims, he is practically an expert when it comes to driving. And since there's no ice around, the chances of him having another accident is slim.

I don't buy it. But I smile and nod anyway. I'll just make sure to park the truck far, far away from his car.

Tyler starts digging into his food and shuts up, allowing me to relax a little. His brain must be running on empty and he needs to eat before he can tell me more about his new car.

As I turn my head to see where Edward is now, the chair directly across from me gets an occupant. It's a girl I see around here a lot who makes it a point to never speak to me. She did say something once but I really don't count insults as being a great introduction. Her name is Lauren. She's blonde, pretty like an ice queen, and wears more makeup than I would put on my face for Halloween. Plus, she is popular, has a legion of friends, and probably has a busy social life.

She and I are nothing alike.

My lips droop into a frown. Realization has slowly dawned upon me. Edward is still in the lunch line. All the chairs at this table are taken. There's no more room. That means there will be no Edward today to talk to. Sure, I have Angela at least, but I've got Mike and Tyler to deal with today. And now Lauren too. And I don't know _what_ to make of that. Based on the eye roll she does whenever she passes by, I doubt she has decided to come over and invite me to a slumber party.

Once settled comfortably, she lifts her head and catches my eye. A slow, creeping smile takes over her face, yet her flat, fishy eyes still feel cold. I hide the shiver that passes through me and give her a small nod of acknowledgement.

"Well, hello there," Lauren coos in a sing-song voice. "I don't think we've meet before. I'm Lauren." She laughs a couple of times. "But you knew that, right? I'm pretty well known around here."

"Yeah. I know who you are," I reply uneasily.

"I thought so," she smirks. She turns her head a few degrees and focuses on Angela, who has been staring at Lauren with the same baffled look that I have on my face. "Hey, Angela. You don't mind if I sit here today, do you? I'm - like - really bored and needed to sit someplace new."

"No...I don't mind," Angela slowly responds.

After that, Lauren remains quiet for a while. Mike and Jessica are still in deep conversation, so they don't seem to notice the uncomfortable tension that has settled in. Tyler is busy stacking his tater tots into a tower, grumbling with disappointment whenever they fall. I almost wish he would say something to break the awkwardness that has settled in ever since Lauren appeared. That's how desperate I am.

Angela must feel similar to how I am feeling. She coughs, clearing her throat and squirming in her chair as she watches Lauren daintily pecking at her salad. In what I assume is an attempt to relieve the tension, Angela asks me if she ever told me about what happened when her parents tried taking her little brothers to Chuck E. Cheese's in Seattle a couple of years back. I say no, and then listen to her story. It begins with a flat tire and crying children who pouted because they would be late for their promised lunch at the restaurant. Their father braved the heavy, cold rain and dodged traffic while he changed the flat. They arrived at the restaurant an hour late but they were all relieved that they made it unscathed. Five minutes later, the three year old twins witnessed an animatronic rat creepily blinking his eyes and singing with his band of eerie animal-mutant robots. The poor kids screamed in terror and had to leave the restaurant before their food had even been ordered. To this day, the twins refuse to go back to that place. I can't help but laugh at the story.

"I forgot that you had brothers," Lauren pipes in. We turn our heads to find that Lauren is giving a saccharine-sweet smile. "How old are they now?"

"They're six."

Lauren grimaces as if that information repulses her. "Ugh! I don't see how you can stand it. Kids that age are - like - so gross and annoying. Their little fingers dirty up everything!"

"Josh and Isaac aren't so bad," Angela defends in a steady but low tone. "They're good most of the time."

Lauren's disgusted expression disappears almost instantly. Her head tilts while her eyes widen with feigned innocence. "I'm sure they are," she condescendingly agrees. "I was just pointing out that they must be a handful."

"They can be sometimes."

"And I bet you get stuck babysitting a lot too, huh? You probably miss out on a lot of fun things just because of them," she presses on, ignoring the offended look on Angela's face. "Like, I bet you don't get very many weekends free."

Angela shakes her head. "Actually, we use babysitters on most Saturday nights. It's only occasionally that I watch them."

"Oh. That means you _will_ be free next Saturday. That's great," Lauren replies in a shrill, nasally voice. "So who are you going with?"

"Going with?" Angela repeats, stumped by Lauren's question.

"You know. The girl's choice dance. _Everyone's_ going to be there. Who have you asked to take you?"

Angela's face stares down at her lunch tray for a few beats. "Umm... No one?" she shyly admits.

Lauren does a gigantic eye roll. "You don't have much time left. You should probably think about asking the guy now instead of waiting till the last minute." She focuses on me and adds, "I bet Becca has already planned on how she's gonna ask the guy she wants to go with. Haven't you?"

Now it's my turn to squirm. Not only does she not seem to know my name, she also lives under the delusion that Bella Swan would ever attend a school dance. I can barely walk without falling to the ground. Dancing is dangerous. I would take people down with me. Having me there would be like inviting a less intentionally violent _Carrie_ to the high school dance - except it would be my own blood that would spill when I accidentally knock down the punchbowl instead of me taking revenge against my classmates.

"It's Bella," I correct her.

Her lips pucker out and she does the innocent look again. "I'm sorry. _Bella_. So have you made any plans?"

"No. I haven't," I answer simply, avoiding giving her any details.

"I haven't made up my mind yet either," she airily sighs. "There's a couple of guys I'm thinking about asking, but it's so hard to choose between them. Jeremy wants to go - like - _really_ bad with me. But I'm putting him off until I make up my mind about the other guy."

"I see," I mutter noncommittally.

Lauren's smile spreads, her canine teeth exposed like rattlesnake fangs. "Yeah... Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm starting to lean towards asking the other guy. I'm _dying_ to know what he'll look like in a suit. Edward and I take Gym together, and he looks smokin' hot even in that yucky uniform. He's in great shape. My only question is, I wonder what dress I should buy for that night? Should I try to match him or wear something more flashy? What do you guys think?"

My heart lurches in my chest. As far as I know, there is only one Edward at this school.

"You're thinking about going with...Edward Masen?" I ask, gulping nervously.

"Uh-huh. He and I are - like - really good friends. I was the first to meet him after he started coming to school here. We talk and laugh _all_ the time. But I'm thinking that maybe it's time to kick it up a notch. Maybe see if there's more than just friendship holding us together."

"Oh," I respond numbly. If Edward is friends with her, does that mean he spends time with her too? Is that what he does on the weekends while I'm bored out of my mind?

"He's such a nice guy too. That's one of the things I like about him." She squints her eyes as if she is thinking very hard about something. Then, refocusing on my face, she says, "Wait a minute. But you already know about that, don't you? I think I've seen you with him a couple of times."

"Well, yeah. We're study partners. And friends." I leave out the part about him being the object of my obsession. It doesn't hurt to give her only half the truth. If she and Edward are destined to be together, I don't want her to think that I'll try to steal him away. But, let's face it, there's zero chance of that happening anyway. Edward treats me like a friend. There's no way in hell that he would look at a Plain Jane like me when he has girls like Lauren waiting to swoop in.

Shrewdly, she nods her head up and down. "Oh... That's interesting. And you said that your name's Bella, right?" I nod my head and she taps her long fingernails against the table. Around ten seconds pass before she speaks again. "Well isn't that weird? I wonder why he hasn't mentioned you before? He is usually so talkative..." Her bottom lip juts out, ruminating that anomaly. Suddenly, she's giggling, her pale blue eyes shining. She leans across the table, the tops of her breasts peeking from her low-cut pink shirt. Then she adds in a conspiratorial whisper, "But I guess it doesn't matter if he forgets things. I think I distract him a little when we talk. I shouldn't get too mad at him, should I?"

Nibbling my bottom lip, I start feeling a strange sensation. I've read about it before, however I have never experienced it personally. My chest feels heavy. I'm finding it harder to breathe. I know what it's called. _Heartbreak_.

I can't say that I can blame him if he does like her. Lauren is very nice looking in a overly girlie kind of way. She wears feminine skirts that show off her figure even if it's freezing outside. Her pale blonde hair is always perfect. She accessorizes and moisturizes and probably a lot more -izes that I don't even know about. I'm sure she even knows how to flirt. She obviously is in a league well above my own.

Lauren starts bragging about trips to San Francisco, spa treatments, celebrity gossip, and a dozen other topics that cover everything under the sun. Listening to Lauren is like being with Jessica - if Jess had an irritating nasal quality to her voice and injected demeaning commentary to everything she talked about.

The bell clangs and I shuffle out of the cafeteria in a haze, going over everything Lauren said. It hurts me just as much as the first time.

While I'm lost in my own sorrow-filled world, I vaguely sense someone sliding up by my side as I walk. It's Angela. She looks over both of her shoulders, then leans closer to my ear. "She's lying, Bella," she says in a mumbled voice.

"What?"

"Lauren was lying," Angela clarifies. She glances around again. "Or at least exaggerating, I think."

"About what?"

"Bella! Wait up!" yells Mike from behind us. I heave out a groan and stop walking. Angela clamps her mouth shut and doesn't say another word, leaving me guessing as to what she wanted to tell me. Lauren said so much that it could be nearly anything. I could only hope that it had something to do with Edward.

**00000000000000000000**

Edward was quiet during Biology. He spoke sparingly and seemed to have trouble maintaining eye contact with me. Once at my house, he seemed to relax a little. He spoke more easily and resumed his usual, casual suaveness. A pencil is wedged in between his thumb and index finger. As he works on his trig homework, I watch his hand smooth back his coppery hair. It flattens down for a few seconds before popping back up like a Jack-In-The-Box. It's hard to stop watching him and concentrate on my own homework. Especially today, it seems. I want to bring up Lauren and ask him if they are just friends. But, of course, I don't. It's not my business what she is to him.

So I shove down the anguish until I can barely feel it, and repeat my trusty mantra that I use for occasions like these.

_He is a friend._

I have no claim on him. If he goes to that stupid dance with her, that's fine. He'll still be my friend at the end of the day. I can take it.

I think.

Burying myself inside of my Government textbook, I read chapter seventeen and gradually stop worrying about everything that I can't control. I'm in the middle of reading about checks and balances when I am interrupted.

"I noticed that Tyler was buzzing around you again today," Edward says aloud, his lips curled into a lopsided smile.

Thinking about Tyler again pushes me further into a depressive state. He wanted to talk with me an awful lot today - more than what my frazzled nerves can deal with. Goldfish have more developed brains than he has. And it hurts my ears whenever he talks. It's L.A. surfer lingo mixed with preteen girl screeching at her favorite teen idol. Tyler sounds like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle who got kicked in the nuts.

"Yeah, he kept popping up everywhere I went today. He _finally_ stopped bugging me about the accident last month, so I really don't understand why he is taking an interest in me again... And he was acting strange, too... He kept mentioning that he had a new car every other sentence," I explain wearily.

Edward's eyes flick back and forth from his homework to my face. "Really? And, did he, uh, ask you anything or mention anything else?"

My forehead wrinkles as I gaze back at him. He's never seemed very interested in Tyler before. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he breathes out, "Just curious." Then, with barely a beat in between that statement and the next, he says, "I heard that we'll be starting _Jane Eyre_ in English once we're done with _Macbeth_. I should think that it should be fairly soon. The teacher said so this morning. Were you aware of that?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I guess this will be my fifth time reading it if memory serves me right."

A deep, rich laugh fills the room. His smiles widely, eyes crinkled at the corners. "You could just skip it since you obviously know the book so well," he says in an amused tone.

I refrain from maniacally laughing at him since that would likely scare him off. Bella Swan doesn't pass up reading a decent book just because it's something she has read a thousand times. "I _could _\- but then what else would I read? _Mansfield Park _for the umpteenth time?" I counter with a small smile. I stopped keeping up with how many times I've read that one after I passed fifteen.

"Then why don't you get something new to read?" Edward wonders.

"I would if I could, but the library here barely has anything interesting. Once I saw the poor selection, I decided to not even bother getting a library card," I reply with a small, despairing sigh.

Entering into a silent spell, he purses his mouth and wags his pencil in between his fingers as he stares off into space. I lower my head and try to read my textbook again, but I can't seem to stop watching him out of the corner of my eye. After a short time, he drops the pencil on the table and says in a thoughtful tone, "You could borrow some books from my family's library. There are tons to choose from."

My head snaps up and I try not to salivate at the thought of there being a trove of books nearby. The Cullens have their own library? How wealthy are these people if they're calling their book collection a _library_?

Quickly, I decide that Edward is probably making it sound better than it actually is. I'm sure if I had asked around, someone would have said that the public library in Forks had "tons" of books to choose from, too. Plus, I don't think his family would appreciate Edward bringing me their books. They haven't even met me before.

"_Your family's library_?" I ask incredulously. "I don't think that's a good idea, Edward. They don't know me."

"Nonsense," he says with a shake of his head, basically waving off my concerns. "They won't mind at all."

"You couldn't possibly know that," I retort, narrowing my eyes.

His face remains impassive, only a lone eyebrow cocks up at my skepticism. "Well, seeing as how you won't take me at my word, why don't you come to my house and you can ask my parents yourself? Though, I can practically guarantee that they will not mind in the slightest. They are the most generous people I've ever met."

My brain starts to repeat his words on a loop. _Y__ou can come to my house_, he said. I haven't seen his house yet. I don't even know where it is except that it's out in the country somewhere. Jessica once mentioned a rumor that it was large - like a castle in looks and scale. I have to admit that I _am_ curious if it's as grand as she believes. This is a very tempting offer Edward is making. Borrowing a book or two _and_ seeing where he lives?

Damn you curiosity.

I agree to going as long as I can ask one of his parents if it's OK if I borrowed a book. Edward nods his head and smirks as though he has finally won an argument. And I guess he has. He better not get used to that feeling.

Glancing at the clock, I see that it's a few minutes past four. Charlie probably won't be home until after I get back since one of his deputies is on vacation. But I don't want to be wrong and have him show up at home thinking that I've been kidnapped. So I dig out a piece of paper and write a note saying that I stepped out for a little while and I'll be home by six. I'm not telling him where I'm going. If I wrote that I was going to a boy's house, he would have a stroke. He wouldn't understand that Edward isn't interested in seducing me like he first feared.

I lock the front door, and carefully walk down the slippery steps. Edward follows close behind me. Once I reach the grass in the front yard where my truck is parked, he blurts out, "What are you doing?"

I swing around to answer his question, but my feet slip on the damp grass and I start to wobble as I try to keep upright. As usual, his hands shoot out and grab me by the shoulders before I go down. After I am standing up safely once again, I straighten my back and raise my chin up high to hide my embarrassment. "I _thought_ I was driving to your house," I reply in an irritated voice.

He takes his time before he says anything to that. His fingers tug at his hair as he stands rigidly in front of me. Flicking his eyes away for a moment, they soon return but appear different from what I'm used to seeing. They seem to lack the confidence that he normally exudes.

"I can drive you. It's a bit difficult to find the place," he announces gently.

"But then you would have to drive_ all the way back here, Edward_," I reply, shaking my head vigorously. "That's too much trouble." I can't ask to borrow books _and_ hitch a ride when I have a perfectly good vehicle to take me there. I can follow behind him. It would be ridiculous for him to chauffeur me around.

He releases a deep breath, and closes his eyes. "No, it's not. I _want_ to do it," he stresses.

His eyes slowly reopen, locking onto my face and intensifying the longer they stay there. They're unspeakably beautiful at any given time, yet somehow they are more so now than ever. Maybe it's the way they're gleaming in spite of the gray, misty daylight. Maybe it's how he's looking at me from under his thick lashes, pleading and sincere. Or maybe it's both of these things and more that have enraptured me.

"Please," he adds simply. He draws the word out, making it vibrate on his tongue and through the air. It sounds soulful and deep.

And it's too much for me to handle.

I can no longer speak. I can't formulate a decent argument when faced with him looking at me like this. I'm so disoriented, I don't even remember why I was arguing in the first place. My mind is a total blank.

He doesn't fight fair.

Struggling to maintain some semblance of sanity, I blink my eyes to try to clear my head of the spell he has put me under. Then, with a couple of quick head nods to show him that I'll go along with what he wants, I turn away from the hypnotic boy and escape to wait by his car's passenger side. I avoid looking in his direction as he comes to unlock the door. My heart needs time to beat normally again. I slip inside the car and try to relax.

A couple of minutes after we leave my house, I feel more in control of myself and take a peek his way while he drives. He has one hand on the steering wheel as he passes around a slow moving compact car. His free hand rests on the center console. It kind of fascinates me to watch him drive. He seems so self-confident and controlled. As if nothing could take him by surprise.

Without warning, he moves his head a few degrees and sees that I am watching him. His mouth forms into that crooked smile that I find far too appealing. I swallow roughly and try to smile back. It's weak, but I do it. Then, he resumes focusing on the road ahead of him.

My eyes smash themselves shut in an attempt to block out all visual stimuli that I shouldn't dwell on.

_He is a friend._

_He is a friend._

_He is a friend._

I don't think my helpful little chant is working all that well anymore.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N-**

**Next Chapter\- All of the Cullens in the same room with Bella! What will they say? What will Bella think about them? And, most importantly, will they be thirsty? You know what they are, right?**

**Thanks for reading! ;-)**


	12. Perfect Strangers

**Chapter 12- Perfect Strangers**

**March 1, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

Rain begins falling from above once we leave the Forks city limits behind us. It's that aggravating, misty type of rain that does little more than fog up the windows and causes your hair to poof out like a French poodle's. This area of the state probably uses more hairspray per capita than almost anywhere else in the world. To combat the frizz problem, many of the older women here have resorted to using so much Aqua Net in their hair that it now looks like they have construction helmets attached to their heads. The upside to this strange hairstyle is that rainwater can no longer penetrate the top layer of their helmet hair.

Accompanying the rhythmic slapping of the windshield wiper blades against the glass is a song from long ago. The music began playing the moment Edward cranked the car and hasn't stopped since. The singers are male, their voices harmonious and soulful. I've recognized a couple of the songs so far, but I haven't heard them in ages. I asked who they were and he said that they were the Righteous Brothers, a group from the '60s. He offered to change it to something else of my choosing, but I declined. The music currently playing fits the atmosphere better than anything I could come up with.

The more distance we put between ourselves and the town, the fewer houses there are. Large tracts of woodland often separate these properties, making it rare for these folks to have any close neighbors. Occasionally, I spot a farm boasting rustic barns and other agriculture equipment scattered around. One place has a small herd of speckled black and white cattle standing out in the drizzling rain. The cows on this flat, grassy field idly chew the cud while their glazed-over brown eyes lethargically stare off into the distance. Even the young ones that should be energetic and full of life just stand there, not doing much of anything. That's the depressing thing about life in Forks - even the domesticated creatures here look bored out of their minds. I should probably report their owner to the authorities for animal cruelty. You shouldn't be allowed to have animals in your care if you can't provide something interesting for those poor cows to do besides just standing around. But I guess I shouldn't get too upset at the careless farmer. Not everyone understands just how dull it is here. Some people actually like living in Forks. They think it's quaint and peaceful. These people somehow take pleasure in what little Forks has to offer them. You can usually find these misguided souls gathered at the Thriftway during their time off. There you can hear them chat and debate over many exciting topics - such as, whose rain gauge received more precipitation in the last twenty-four hours, or how much will the rutabagas in the produce aisle cost next week if gas prices keep going up. As for myself, if I didn't have people like Edward in my life to help keep my brain from petrifying, I would have probably gone crazy weeks back and be mindlessly staring off into outer space just like those cows.

A few miles out of town, Edward points out the enormous sawmill that employs a good portion of the young males in the community. In fact, many of the boys in my class will probably be hired there as soon as they graduate. Even Charlie worked there for a while before I was born. A huge smokestack jutting out from the building emits puffs of smoke into the air, bestowing even more gray clouds into our already dreary sky. I spot one of the workers smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. He's sitting in a pick up truck with the windows rolled down, the expression on his face nearly lifeless. Based on this alone, I'm assuming that it's no fun working there.

After that slight visual stimulation, the countryside doesn't offer much of anything else to get excited about. Other than a house here or there on this winding road, there's mainly just trees to look at as we drive to his house. That's what this community is primarily known for besides the rain and mud. We have trees of every conceivable size and shape. Tall ones. Short ones. Bushy ones. Scraggly ones. Ones with broad, olive-green leaves. Others with sharp, pokey needles. Some trees have stood untouched for decades and look like something you would have seen a brachiosaurus munch on once upon a time. And although each tree evokes a majestic beauty that no one can deny, they can also be pretty bland. There's just so many of them that they lose their impressiveness after a while. Once you've seen a million trees, you're not as interested when you pass by number one million and one.

Mile after mile Edward's Volvo goes. When will it stop? Who the hell knows? It's been around thirty minutes since we left Forks and signs of civilization have become practically nonexistent. When he offered to take me to his house, he didn't emphasize just how far away it is from town. Why would anyone want to live way out here? The last house I saw was around five miles back. And, to be honest, I am using the term _house_ loosely. It looked more like a shack - complete with a raggedy porch that was falling apart and rusting tin roof with gaping hole. I seriously doubt that anyone has lived there any time this century. Since we went by that dilapidated structure, it's been nothing but trees, rocks, and then more trees. We haven't passed any vehicles in a long time either. The longer we go on like this, the more difficult it is to restrain myself from asking Edward in a whiny voice, "Are we there yet?"

Without giving me a heads up, he yanks the steering wheel to the left and his car swerves onto a nearly invisible side road. It's a single lane, tiny and kind of spooky thanks to the foggy mist and ominously dark forest that surrounds us. It curves back and forth across the landscape, dodging trees whose trunks are almost wide enough to allow a car to pass through them. Weeds and bushes hug the side of the gravel lane and brushes up against the car as we pass. Low hanging branches create a sort of natural roof above us, cutting down on the amount of rain hitting the car by more than half. In a way it feels as though we have entered a tunnel. It's much darker here than it was on the main road.

My senses go into high alert. I cautiously scan all around us, searching for a house or road sign to indicate that there is a legitimate reason why Edward would take this route. This road looks like the shortcut some dumb fairytale character would take just so she can get to Grandma's house fifteen minutes sooner, not realizing that the Wolf is lying in wait for her. If this was a horror movie, this would usually be right around the time when I would assume that the driver is a deranged serial killer and the passenger (AKA, me) is his next victim. I'm sure there is some quiet, secluded place around here where Edward could murder me in relative peace and no one would ever know what happened to me. The thick underbrush and miles of unspoiled woodlands would ensure that my body would remain hidden for years to come.

But I know that I am most likely letting my imagination get ahead of me. If Edward wanted to kill me, I doubt he would be fussing with the heater settings and asking if I'm warm enough. Considerate serial killers are probably rare.

The car passes around a cluster of overgrown shrubbery and the landscape magically changes before my eyes. The forest vanishes and turns into acres of beautifully maintained lawn. There are no unsightly weeds. No scraggly shrubs to harm the landscape's neat and orderly appearance. Then I see something even more impressive than that.

My mouth immediately falls open.

Appearing before us is a mansion that I don't think my brain could ever conjure up. It's Tara meets the White House meets Cinderella's Castle. It's gigantic, towering over everything in the area. The only things that are close to beating the mansion in height is a grove of massive cedars that line the driveway like guarding sentinels all the way up to the house, enhancing the royal vibe.

I can't believe what I'm seeing. Jessica told me that she heard that this place was the size of a castle, but I don't think I took her claim seriously enough. I thought it was an exaggeration. An unfounded rumor.

But I was wrong.

I've never seen anything like this place before. The house may have a plain white paint job, but it isn't boring at all. It's three stories tall and has so many windows that I would need an abacus to keep count. A wide and welcoming porch stretches across its front, decorated with dozens of potted plants. Long leaved, green potted plants sit on the railings, tables, and the floor. Hanging baskets filled with flowers of a variety of colors drape down from above. The front door is made from a dark wood and is taller and wider than any door I have ever seen in person. Its closest counterpart is the door Dorothy and Scarecrow knocked on when they wanted to meet the Wizard of Oz.

"Holy crow," I whisper, my eyes nearly popping out from my skull.

I turn my head a little to look at Edward. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he really does reside in a castle. After all, he looks and acts like Prince Charming. He doesn't even have to try to look handsome. A few minutes ago, I watched him rub his hand carelessly through his hair, causing it to poke out in all directions. It should look like a mess, but he somehow makes it work for him. His hair is in fantastic disarray, looking as if a stylist just spent the past hour creating the effect. As for me, if I tried to ruffle my hair in the same manner, I would look like a crazed bag lady that speaks to pigeons and lives in an old refrigerator box.

He slows the car down as we draw closer to the building. When he glances my way, I decide that I should say something at least semi-intelligent to make up for staring like a dummy at the house for so long.

"I wasn't expecting your house to look so..._big_," I say in an uncertain voice.

His face breaks out into a boyish smile - the type that ordinarily would give me heart palpitations - but I think my shock at seeing his fancy residence has given me temporary immunity. "There's seven of us that live there. We need the space to keep from getting on each other's nerves. If it were much smaller, we would probably go insane," he jokes with sparkling eyes.

I smile back as he parks near the steps leading up to the porch. As soon as the car makes a complete stop, I quickly push open my door and get out so that I can stare up at the behemoth in front of me. Tiny water droplets hit my face as I look up at the structure, but for once I'm not paying the annoying rain much attention.

While I'm busy studying the house, Edward goes around the front of the car and joins me. I glance over at him and watch as his mouth briefly frowns before assuming a more natural expression.

I follow him as he leads us across the porch and up to the front door. Without needing to unlock it, Edward turns the doorknob and throws the door wide open. Then, looking at me expectantly, he goes to stand to the side of the welcome mat and patiently waits for me to go inside. His door opening OCD is still in full effect and appears to have no end in sight. I have a strong urge to see what he would do if I were to insist that he should go ahead of me. But I ultimately decide not to put him through it. It would probably be cruel to mess with him like that.

With a sigh, I roll my eyes at him, walk through the door, and step into the house. The first thing I notice is how modern and open the space is. The walls of the entrance area are white, just like the exterior of the house. On the wall by the front door is an Impressionistic painting of a snow covered landscape with a mountain range in the background. And, right front of me, is a grand, sweeping stair case that Scarlett O'Hara should be rushing down at any moment. It's the main focal point of the area.

Well, it was until I saw something more eye-catching than the surroundings.

A woman who looks to be in her mid to late twenties stands several feet away. Her pale white fingers are arranging a bouquet of lemon yellow roses in a glass vase which rests on a wooden table. She's dressed in a tight beige sweater and a pair of designer jeans that look as if they were designed with her in mind. Her hair is the color of dark maple syrup and hangs in subtle waves to just below her shoulders. She has cheekbones that are as angular and perfect as a fashion model's. Her top lip is a Cupid's bow while her bottom is slightly less wide, giving her mouth the illusion of being heart shaped. As I watch her, a slow smile spreads across her ivory white face, making her appear even more gorgeous than before.

But it's her eyes that fascinate me the most. They're the color of amber - a golden yellow hue that looks warm and vibrant. I've seen this eye color only once before in my life.

Alice's eyes are the exact same shade...

"What a surprise, Edward. I didn't expect you to be back home so early," the woman says in a clear voice that sounds uncannily like a choir of angels.

I manage to tear my focus away from the beautiful woman and notice that Edward's full lips are set into a thin line. One of his dark brows have arched up and he stares at the woman silently for a few beats. "We had a change in plans," he carefully drawls. He takes a quick peek at me before continuing on. "Esme, this is Bella, my study partner."

My body flinches when I realize who this person is.

_Esme_. As in, Edward's adoptive mother - the one that I assumed was matronly and old based upon what he has told me about her. I pictured her as being some plump, middle-aged lady with gray hairs beginning to show. Instead, Esme looks like a Hollywood starlet that is simply portraying a Mom in her next film role. She doesn't even have one wrinkle marring her face. How could anyone that lives with five teenagers not at least have frown lines?

However, she does have extremely ashen skin and dark circles under her eyes. Just like...

"Oh, _this_ is Bella?" Esme croons, her gleaming, honey-colored eyes looking me up and down. When they meet my own gaze, another smile - more lovely than before - appears on her face. Clasping her hands together in front of her, she breathes out, "_My_...but, isn't it nice to finally put a face to a name. You are all I've been hearing about for the past month. It's been '_Bella this_' and '_Bella that_' for far too long."

Between her astounding good looks, angelic voice, and young age, I didn't think anything else could take me by surprise. But she just found something else to blow me away.

Edward has mentioned me to Esme - _many times_ if what she is telling me is the truth. This alone leaves me a little flabbergasted. Why would Edward ever want to talk to her about me? What has he said?

_Oh, by the way, Esme. There's this poor girl that I met recently that can't walk more than ten feet without falling on her face. It's quite entertaining to watch. Would you care to meet her? We can take bets to see how far she can make it inside of the house before she tips over._

But the kind, sweet smile she is giving leads me to believe that he hasn't said anything too embarrassing about me. Esme looks genuinely glad to meet me. Exactly why she would be glad is beyond me, but I'll take whatever hospitality she's willing to give.

"It's nice to meet you too," I smile back once my initial shock has worn off a little.

My eyes reluctantly move away from her and goes to study our surroundings more thoroughly, my body going into a low spin mode as I turn in place. I thought the outside of the house was magnificent. And it is. But it isn't nearly as jaw-dropping as the inside.

The space is enormous. It makes the school auditorium look cramped. And it has a light, airy quality to it that feels surreal. It's rainy and dreary outside, but it feels nothing like that in here. Various artwork and sculptures decorate the room, many of the pieces probably being museum quality. Hanging above us is an intricate crystal chandelier that would put the New Year's Time Square ball to shame.

All of the furniture is either a rich, dark mahogany or upholstered in a clean, white fabric. There's a long couch, one small loveseat, and two cushioned chairs set up in a cluster in the living room area. Near the front window is a grand piano that's so shiny and polished that I could probably see my reflection on its surface if I looked. The back wall of the room is nothing but one giant glass window which brings in an enormous amount of natural light. Beyond the window is a lawn that stretches for many acres all the way down to a picturesque, rocky stream.

I halt my spinning once I've completed one full rotation. I'm once again facing towards Edward's Mom, who is still smiling at me just as friendly as before. "You have a lovely home. It feels like I stepped into a dream. It's so airy and open," I tell her honestly.

"That's all thanks to Esme," says Edward, a proud smile gracing his lips. "She took this rundown house and had it completely renovated. She dabbles in interior design, you see. Of course, I wasn't here yet when this was done, but I've been told that the change was like night and day."

"Wow," I reply in awe, trying to imagine taking on that kind of a headache on my own. I get tired sometimes just trying to dress myself in the mornings.

Edward smiles a bit wider, then abruptly snaps his head towards his mother. "Esme, I suggested to Bella that she could borrow some of the library's books. Is that all right with you?"

"Of course! What type of books do you prefer, dear?" she immediately responds, her gaze focusing on me.

I suddenly freeze up, feeling shy and tongue-tied. Edward sprung the question on her so quickly that I wasn't prepared for it yet. Plus, saying what I want is a little embarrassing. I like to read a variety of books, but my favorites are the romances of the past. I prefer to read stories about country balls where there are miscommunication issues and where the young people of the area are trying to find their proper match. I like reading about gentlemen who kiss their ladies' hand with as much enthusiasm as they would if it were their beloved's lips they were paying homage to. I like to read of heroines exploring English moors and sprawling manors while they wear ankle length dresses.

These things probably sound strange coming from a girl of today. But a few years ago, back when Mom was deep into her Hinduism phase, she came up with the theory that I once lived in pre-Victorian England in a past life. She said that maybe back then I was too illiterate or poor to have any books, so now I am making up for lost time by reading them all. This explanation is as good as anything I have been able to come up with.

Uncertain of what to do, my eyes seek out Edward's face, desperate for reassurance. He nods his head a couple of times and quickly darts his eyes to Esme and then back at me, silently pushing me to answer the question.

"Umm," I hum hesitantly, half worried about how strange my request will sound. "Classics, mostly. Jane Austen. The Bronte sisters. Books like that."

But Esme doesn't look at me as if I'm crazy or anything. All she does is move her head up and down and instantly replies, "I see that you have a fondness for romantic nineteenth century literature. We do have a few that fit that description, though we mostly have nonfiction and early twentieth century literature. But, you're welcome to anything you like, dear."

I take a relieved breath and say, "That's very kind of you."

"Hey, Bella!" shouts a voice that rings like a bell.

Slightly confused, I look around until I discover that the three of us are no longer alone. The furniture in the living room area that I saw empty a minute or two before now have occupants. And one of these people has a smile aimed solely at me.

"Hi, Alice," I smile back at her, feeding off her enthusiastic welcome.

She perks up and her smile stretches into a wide grin for several beats. Then, her eyes flick away from my face and lands on someone else that stands beside me. "Edward, quit being such a slowpoke and bring Bella in here!" she demands with playfully, narrowed eyes.

Edward's normally perfect posture becomes slouched. Heaving out a gruff sigh, he glances at me and then his sister. "Very well," he says resignedly, and leads the way into the living room.

I follow close behind him, anxiously dodging furniture and expensive decorations that are probably worth more than my life. Once we have safely made it across the room, he stops in front of his four seated siblings and I do the same. Blinking a few times, I focus on the three that I have never seen up close before.

Sitting on a fancy chair near the couch is Jasper. He's as attractive as I already suspected. His hair is a light blonde and seems to be on the longish side, falling well below his ears. The hairstyle gives him the look of a bohemian poet, all that's missing is a bongo drum and beret. His mouth has a small but friendly smile. Mike once described him as being expressionless, almost like a robot. But, right now, I don't see it. I'm thinking that he is just very reserved.

On the couch next to Alice is Rosalie. She looks as gorgeous as Marilyn Monroe but with paler skin, less moles, and more curves. Her blonde hair is similar to her brother Jasper's but much longer in length. Despite her fair hair, her eyelashes appear naturally dark and thick. Her face is so beautiful and flawless that she doesn't need any makeup, though I can see that she is wearing a dark red lipstick. She's sitting there and staring at me impassively, neither welcoming nor hostile. She isn't smiling at me like everyone else has so far, but this doesn't really bother me. I've seen her give some of the kids at school some pretty terrifying glares that probably resulted in quite a few wet pants. I think I'll take her current unsmiling expression over the alternative.

The last person on the couch is Emmett, his arm slung across Rosalie's back. He's much larger than I previously thought. In fact, he's so big that it's kind of scary. If he wanted to, he could probably snap off my arms and legs and toss them up a tree - just like what little Jimmy Whatley did with my sneakers back in second grade when I wouldn't let him cheat off my spelling test. Emmett is packing muscles everywhere. His arms are as thick as some of the tree trunks outside. And his pecs are so huge that it looks like he has soccer balls stuffed up his shirt, utilizing the technique middle school girls do when they shove Kleenex into their bras to create DIY breasts.

All four of them are as beautiful and handsome as I already knew they would be. But, what I did not know until now is that they all have the same eyes. Warm and mysterious, the color is an odd liquid gold. The shade has to be rare. It has to be very unusual to have not one but _five_ people with this eye color living in the same house...

"Bella, I would like to introduce you to my siblings," Edward says in a formal tone. "This is Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie... Of course, you've already dealt with Alice."

Emmett thrusts out his hand towards me and I instinctively flinch, even taking a step backwards to put distance between myself and the giant. "Nice to meet ya," he bellows in a voice so loud that it rattles the walls.

I wonder how the Cullens would react if I were to suddenly jet out of the house and hotwire Edward's Volvo out of here?

But a surprising thing happens. While I'm gulping in terror, Emmett breaks out into a large, dimpled smile. "Don't worry Bella. I won't bite," he jokes, throwing in a wink for good measure.

My mouth slowly curves into a smile as I realize something. Emmett isn't all that scary when he's smiling. And he has dimples. _Dimples_. Mean people couldn't possibly have those. Now that I have stopped dwelling on his Schwarzenegger muscles, I see that he is much nicer than I first assumed. Looking into his eyes, they seem more child-like than menacing.

Seeing that he is still waiting for me to take his hand, I reach out and grasp his gigantic hand with my tiny one. We begin shaking hands, moving them slowly up and down.

My forehead scrunches in confusion, my eyes darting down to look at his hand. It feels as hard as stone. It's like I'm shaking hands with a statue. Does he have so many muscles in his body that even his hands are buff? But, then, why would they be cold? They feel like ice even though the room isn't chilly. My grandma had a circulation problem the last few years of her life and her hands and feet sometimes were cold, but she had a heart condition that was the main contributor. I doubt Emmett deals with that...

"Oh! Carlisle's home early," Esme announces warmly, interrupting my thoughts.

I step away from Emmett and look around, expecting to see the seventh and last member of the family somewhere in the room. But I don't see anyone new. And I didn't hear any noises to indicate that someone else has arrived home.

I turn to Esme who is standing next to Jasper's chair, and direct my question to her. "How do you know? I didn't hear anything."

The room goes strangely silent.

Esme moves her mouth a couple of times but nothing comes out. Emmett's lips are puckered out and he stares uneasily down at the floor, avoiding my eyes. Rosalie remains stone-faced, however I catch her briefly looking at something behind me.

Unable to help myself, I follow her gaze and look out the front window. Right at that moment, a sleek, black car zips into view and cruises up the driveway. It's driving like a bat out of hell. It's so fast that Charlie's old police cruiser probably couldn't catch it.

I guess that this must be Carlisle, Edward's adopted father. But I still don't understand how Esme knew that he was here. He didn't appear until _after_ she made the announcement...

"We have an advanced security system," says Alice behind me. I whip my head back around and notice that she's pointing her index finger at a white box that is attached to the wall near the front window. "It blinks several times in succession whenever someone's car passes the sensor. Esme doesn't like hearing the alarm blaring on and off all day, so she keeps it on silent a lot and keeps her eye on it when she is in the living room."

My eyebrows knit together while I try to sort through Alice's explanation. I have no experience with alarm systems. The type of houses that I live in don't need them. My family and I have never owned anything a burglar would want to steal. In fact, I always suspected that if Charlie's house was ever broken into, that some kindhearted cat burglar would feel sorry for us and leave behind cash and a note telling us that we should at least upgrade our TV. So, I guess that her explanation is plausible.

But...

Wasn't Esme facing towards _me_ instead of where the alarm hangs? And if that's the case, how could she have seen it blink?

The front door swings open a moment later and in steps a man no older than thirty. His slicked back hair is the fairest blonde color that I have ever seen. Like Edward's siblings and Esme, Carlisle has strangely pale skin that otherwise appears flawless. He's outrageously handsome, too. Dressed in his white doctor's coat, he looks like the type of guy you'd see starring in a soap opera. He'd be the actor playing a doctor that tells the lead female character that she has a brain tumor that's inoperable. Then, thanks to a few pills and a prescribed love affair, the woman is magically cured of her disease.

Carlisle walks into the living room and I get a closer look at him. His eyes are yellow gold, too. Just like his wife and most of their children. Except for Edward. It's weird that six people in this one household have such milky white skin and the same unusual eye color - especially when most of them are not related. I can understand that Jasper, Rosalie, and Esme may have similar characteristics since Esme is their aunt. But what about the rest of them? Alice and Emmett were adopted. Why do they share that trait?

I guess it's possible that Carlisle and Esme are just eccentric and like to adopt kids with unique features like themselves. Edward may not have their golden eyes, but he does have a pair of spellbinding emerald green ones that have kept me entranced...

Esme gracefully glides up to Carlisle, stands on the tips of her toes like a ballerina, and plants a kiss on his cheek. "We have company," she tells him.

He grins when we make eye contact. "Is that so?"

She smiles and nods her head. "Yes indeed. Edward finally decided to bring Bella over to visit."

From beside me, Edward huffs out a dry laugh. "Actually, I brought her here so she could borrow some books. The visiting is just a happy coincidence," he says sarcastically.

Esme lifts her hand and waves away her son's remark. "However you want to spin it, dear," she lightly replies. An instant later, her gaze zeros in on my face. "Bella, do you like apple pie?"

My eyes widen and my head jerks back. "Oh!" I exclaim, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. "Well, yes...I do."

She claps her hands together and beams at me happily. "Perfect! Why don't you two take a seat and I'll go fetch you a slice," she instructs before she glides out the room.

I stand there for a while, slightly confused. What just happened? She asked me if I liked apple pie - not if I wanted to eat it at this very moment.

Once I recover from my bewilderment, I look for a place to sit down since it appears that I'll be eating pie soon. There's no more room on the couch and Carlisle just took the last empty chair. The only place left is a loveseat that sits to the side of the couch.

I carefully walk over to it and sit down. It's a very nice piece of furniture. The cushions are soft as a cloud and the fabric is smooth to the touch, feeling like satin to my fingers. I don't want to know how much something like this must have cost Esme. The loveseat's only fault is that it's kind of small. It's less than half the size of the couch, so there isn't much room to stretch out. But I guess that doesn't matter. It's just me sitting here.

Once I have settled comfortably, I look around the room and notice that Edward is still standing up. His back is facing me and I can't see his face. One of his hands are dragging through his bronze hair, tugging so hard that I'm surprised that tufts of it aren't being pulled out. Meanwhile, Alice is smiling sweetly up at him, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

Esme enters the room balancing a silver serving tray in her arms. I see plates, a pie, and several utensils placed on top. At that moment, Edward twists around and he begins walking in my direction. I can finally see that his face is a little paler than it normally is. And, stranger than that, his eyes appear troubled. Yet before I can decipher his abrupt mood change, something else occurs to me.

There's no place for Edward to sit other than this miniature loveseat.

As this thought is occurring to me, he is already lowering himself down onto the loveseat, squeezing into a spot right beside me. I try to move over as much as I can, but it's no use. There's no where for me to go. Soon he and I are being crushed together and I'm getting to know him in a whole new way. Other than the time I used him as cushioning in the school parking lot after the accident, I've never been this close to him before. Usually, we keep a foot or two of space between us at all times. But now you couldn't slip a sheet of paper between us. I am being bombarded by new sights and sensations. I can see a small beauty mark hiding right behind his ear. A vein in his neck throbs in a steady beat. I can smell his cologne in the air, overwhelming my already heightened senses. His entire right side is pressed up against me. I can sense his every movement. I can feel every breath. His lean body feels hard. It isn't all soft and smushy like mine is.

He's so close to me that if I were insane and possessed absolutely no self control, I could say to hell with it and just go ahead and cuddle with him to my heart's content.

My face erupts in flames. God it's hot in here. Who decided to turn the furnace up?

While I'm silently suffering from heat exhaustion, Esme sets her silver tray on a table in the middle of the room. Grabbing a plate, she places one perfectly sliced pie wedge in the exact center. Next, she moves effortlessly across the space and hands me the plate and a fork.

"Thank you," I mumble nervously. I then direct my concentration on the dessert in front of me, desperate to occupy my thoughts on something other than the male body currently rubbing up against me. It wouldn't look right if I swoon into a fainting heap in front of everyone.

The apple pie looks exactly as you would expect it to. Golden crust. Juicy apple filling. But I'm still wary. I lived with my mom for too long for me to automatically assume that just because something looks edible that it is safe to eat. Mom was great at baking cookies that looked gooey and delicious on the outside but tasted like gravel in the middle.

I cautiously take my fork and cut off a small bite of Esme's pie. Placing it in my mouth, I slowly chew. The next thing I know, my taste buds are doing a joyful dance and I start devouring my slice of pie hungrily. This has to be the best apple pie that I have ever tasted. It's a perfect blend of sweetness and spice.

I thought Esme was just a unearthly beautiful woman that just so happens to be the mother figure to a bunch of orphans. But now I see that there is much more to her than just a pretty face. She is freakin' Martha Stewart 2.0.

"Now, who else wants some?" Esme asks once she has finished serving me.

"No, thank you," Carlisle grins, patting his stomach. "I had a big lunch."

Jasper pipes up next, his mouth twisted to the side. "Alice and I got into that leg of lamb while you were outside, so we're too full. Sorry," he finishes apologetically.

Esme's hands fly away from the tray to rest on her hips and she stares at them with fire in her eyes. "I can't believe you two! That was for tonight!"

Alice's already large eyes widen further, giving her a guilt-ridden expression resembling what a young child might give you if they were caught stealing cookies from the kitchen. "But it smelled so delicious, Esme. We couldn't help it," she replies pitifully.

Esme lets loose a frustrated sigh and briefly lifts her eyes skyward. "_Fine_," she breathes out, instantly forgiving them. She stops worrying about Alice and Jasper and turns to the next person on the couch. "What about you Rose?"

With her back rigidly straight, Rosalie folds her arms across her chest. "Em and I are going to that Italian place in Port Angeles in a little while. We made reservations," she reveals with a throaty voice.

From beside her, Emmett's light laughter fills the room. "Yeah. We're eating alfresco tonight!"

I pause in my chewing, confused by his comment. It's raining right now. And it's cold out there.

At the same time, Alice giggles and shakes her head at Emmett. "I think you and Rose will freeze if you ate outside tonight, Em."

"I'll take a slice, Esme," calls out Edward a few beats afterwards. With a smile that I can only describe as motherly, Esme quickly prepares him a plate and hands it to him. She looks so eager to do something for him that I almost expect for her to tuck a napkin around his neck and ask if she can feed him.

While the two of us eat our pie and act like we're not practically joined at the hip thanks to this cramped loveseat, the rest of the family chats among themselves. I listen in as they talk about little things like school and upcoming social events. It's interesting hearing them sound like a stereotypical family. They laugh. They tease. They encourage. This is the type of family that you only see on old reruns. I feel like I'm visiting the set of the Brady Bunch.

Eventually, Carlisle says, "I have news from the hospital. Apparently Emmett did such a fine job last Christmas portraying Santa Claus for the children's ward, the staff would love if you would help them out again."

Emmett proudly smiles and shrugs his shoulders relaxedly. "Sure. That's fine with me. Playing Santa again should be a lot of fun."

"No Emmett," Carlisle replies, shaking his head. "I'm not talking about you playing Santa. They want you to dress up for their Easter reception in the playroom."

Emmett's jaw drops and his eyebrows rise up. Then, just as quickly, his expression turns into an amused incredulity. "_Easter_? So what are you saying? That they want _me_ to be the _Easter_ _Bunny_?" he chuckles in disbelief.

But Carlisle isn't laughing. "That's right."

Emmett's laughter abruptly ends and he starts shaking his head back and forth. "Nope! No way! I am _not_ dressing up like a fluffy bunny. End of story!"

Sitting on the arm of Carlisle's chair, Esme cries, "But it's for the children! Just imagine how delighted they'll be when they see you! Do you want to disappoint them?"

"Can't they get somebody else to wear that wimpy costume?" he whines.

"Not really," says Carlisle sadly. "The costume is very large and the man who wore it in years past moved away. You're the only person that we know that not only fits into the costume, but also has the spare time to devote to entertaining the children that day."

Rosalie's head snaps to stare at Emmett. "He'll do it," she declares flatly.

"I can't!" Emmett blurts out. "Have you _seen_ that thing, Rose? It's pink!"

Leaning forward a little, Alice looks around Rosalie and says, "Actually, it's more of a magenta."

Emmett's brows crash together and he shoots her an irritated scowl. "Yeah. Everyone else in the world calls that _pink_, Alice."

"You're doing it," Rosalie commands, locking her arms stubbornly across her chest.

"But-"

"You can't win this argument," she interrupts, cocking up her brow. "_It's for kids, Em_. You are going to stop complaining, suck it up like a man, and make sick children happy for a couple of hours. If you keep up with the bellyaching, I'm going to make it much worse for you."

He swallows roughly and looks more frightened than I did when I first met him. "What will you do?" he asks in a hoarse whisper.

"I'll get Alice to alter that bunny costume and make it ten times more girlie than it is now. Then - not only will you wear it for the kids at the hospital - you will wear it for the rest of the day. And I will make sure that every man, woman, and child in this county sees you. We will visit nursing homes, auto part stores, gas stations - _everywhere_."

Alice's lips curl up and she claps excitedly. "Now _that_ sounds like a fun assignment! I can attach a pretty silk ribbon around the bunny's neck."

"Maybe you can add in a few flowers to the costume," Jasper adds with a sly smile.

Alice's face lights up. "Great idea, Jazz! Emmett can carry around a whole basket of tulips and pansies! He can toss them on the ground wherever he goes. You know, like an overgrown flower girl! That would be _adorable_."

Holding his hands up in defeat, Emmett's nose wrinkles. "OK, you guys, you win! I'll wear the dumb costume as it is."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want the flowers?" teases Jasper. "I think you're manly enough to pull it off."

"Positive," Emmett glares back.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N-**

**Next Chapter\- More wacky fun at the Cullen household. And Bella gets to see another side of Edward that he has so far kept hidden. **

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	13. Killing Me Softly

**Chapter 13- Killing Me Softly**

**March 1, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

Eating homemade apple pie and overhearing conversations about pink bunny costumes (all while being squished up against the boy that I have been obsessing over for the past month) is not how I pictured my day would go when I woke up this morning.

To handle the awkward situation, I go with a strategy of feigned indifference. I pretend that I am not a girl that freaks out just because a boy is sitting next to her. I try to act as though being practically on top of him while his family looks on is completely normal and no big deal to me. Hopefully, no one will notice that I am on the verge of hyperventilating. That would probably tip them off that I am slightly on edge.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward's fork cut his pie up into small, manageable pieces before he places them into his mouth. He hasn't said a word to anyone since Esme handed him his plate. But, to be fair, I haven't either. I don't have the strength to chitchat when I am too busy trying to remember how to eat without choking.

After I place the last forkful of pie into my mouth, Esme swoops over from her perch on Carlisle's chair. In no time, my empty plate is removed from my lap and is balanced on the palm of her hand. "Bella. If you'd like to clean up, there is a bathroom right down the hall," she says, pointing her free hand to an area towards the back of the house.

The thought of escaping from the room for a couple of minutes sounds fantastic, so I nod my head and gratefully accept her hospitality. Unfortunately, my butt is wedged so tightly between the arm of the loveseat and Edward's hip that it makes it difficult to get up. He tries to make room for me by leaning his upper body in the opposite direction, but he is too big and this loveseat is too damn small for this action alone to do me much good.

Before I am reduced to begging Esme to fetch a crowbar, I get the idea to rock back and forth in place. This creates some momentum and seems to help. It isn't long before my body is successfully pried from his side and I'm free to go hide in the bathroom for a little while.

Walking as fast as I can without appearing as if I am running, I make it to the long hallway and covertly scan my surroundings. There are no family photos on the walls, only art and other similar decorations hang here. I pass by an immaculate kitchen boasting steel gray appliances that Julia Child would have been envious of, and then what looks to be a pantry stuffed with dry goods and extra kitchen supplies. I find the bathroom at the very end of the hallway. Once I am safely inside, my back slumps against the door and I release the breath I have been holding in for the past fifteen minutes.

I stay in this slumped position for a minute or so, occupying myself by studying the bathroom which appears to have jumped from the pages of an edition of _Better_ _Homes & Gardens_. It's easy to see that it is far larger than my bedroom and probably much cleaner. Everything is in spotless white. The floor is made from a gorgeous ivory marble with faint gray veins. An elegant claw foot bathtub sits in front of a slatted window. And I have no doubt that the faucet handles on the sink are made from real crystal. These things combined makes the bathroom at Charlie's place seem more like a primitive outhouse.

I wander up to the mirror above the pedestal sink and stare at my reflection. What I see makes me cringe. Cheeks that are in an embarrassing shade of fire engine red. Eyes that are wide and glistening. Mouth slightly parted and almost panting. It looks like I've gotten into the Cullens' liquor cabinet instead of just sitting around eating baked goods with a bronze idol. My only conclusion is that being that close to Edward is not good for my health. My poor body is misinterpreting the situation I am in and disregarding direct orders from my brain to keep my excitement under wraps.

Cupping my hands under the faucet, I splash my face with cool tap water and pat it dry with a fluffy white towel, hoping that this will make my face appear less red. I manage to get it to go from scarlet to a faint coral pink. This is an obvious improvement and is probably as good as it will get considering the circumstances. Any minute now, I will have to go back out there and sit by Edward again on that ridiculously small piece of furniture. What will I do if I miscalculate my trajectory and accidentally land on his lap? Will he think I did it on purpose?

Just thinking of that makes my cheeks' color deepen to salmon pink. I wish I could get them back to normal, but I don't think I have that kind of time. I've been gone so long that Esme is likely wondering if her pie is reacting negatively to my stomach. If I'm not careful, she might try to bring me a dose of Pepto Bismol. I need to get back out there before that happens. I can only take so much embarrassment today before I put myself at risk of dying.

Taking another glance in the mirror, I smooth down my hair and straighten my back in determination. I don't want to walk out of here looking the way I did a few moments ago - a shy, trembling girl that blushes at everything in sight. At least until Edward drives me back home, I will try harder to at least seem unfazed.

Entering the living room, I observe that no one has left. Some of the Cullens are chatting quietly amongst themselves while others are only listening. Edward's eyes lock onto my face as soon as he spots me, his expression piercing and brooding. It's the look I imagine Edgar Allan Poe would wear whenever he put his inked quill to paper. I suck in a breath and glance away before I become so intrigued by his expression that I trip over something expensive and breakable.

As I continue walking, I find another sight to occupy my thoughts. Despite the overcast sky, daylight from outside is reflecting off the top of the grand piano, giving it an unearthly glow. The instrument looks to be made from some sort of dark wood that has been polished and buffed until its surface is reflective as a glacier lake. It is a beautiful work of art which rests by a giant window overlooking the front yard. You might see an instrument as fine as this at Carnegie Hall being played by a famous pianist. Or, if it had a candelabra and some gilded accents, I could imagine Liberace once displaying it in his house in Vegas.

Curiosity bubbles inside of me. Why do the Cullens have a piano? Does someone here actually use it, or do they regard the piano as merely a decoration? Or maybe they only use it as a convenient conversation starter. And I guess it works, because before I can stop myself, I'm already asking about it.

"That is such a beautiful piano. Does anyone play it?" I say to no one in particular while I carefully sit back down on the world's tiniest loveseat.

Everyone in the room lapses into silence and turns to stare. Esme's mouth broadens into a large smile and her golden eyes sparkle when she answers my question. "Only one. That's Edward's, dear."

For a moment, I wonder if my ability to interpret words is malfunctioning. Surely she didn't just say that the beautiful piano belongs to _Edward_.

In disbelief, I turn to look at him in hopes that he will confirm or deny what I just heard. I'm surprised to see that Edward's face looks slightly distressed, his mouth pressed into a fine line.

"You play the piano?" I question once I catch his eye.

Before he can say anything, Esme answers with a gleaming smile. "Oh, my, he certainly does. Every day, in fact. And, wonderfully, if you don't mind me saying so. I was just telling Carlisle the other day that Edward could go on tour if he were inclined to, but-"

From beside me, Edward pointedly clears his throat and interrupts her. "Esme, _please_. You are exaggerating," he says between clenched teeth.

She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and dismisses both his claim and his irritation. "Pish posh. Don't be so modest," she says lightly, sounding eerily like my own mom back when I told her stop proudly telling the cashier where I bought my first box of Tampons that I was now officially a woman.

Esme focuses back on my face, tilts her head a few degrees, and confides more information to me as though her adopted son isn't in the very same room. "He gets embarrassed so easily when I try to tell him how well he plays. I _really_ would like to know where he gets that from," she exhales, her manicured finger tapping thoughtfully against her pale chin.

He huffs a humorless laugh and shakes his head. "I've acquired it after months of enduring your unfounded praises."

"How about letting Bella hear you play so then she can make up her own mind about it? _Hmm_?" Alice pipes in, her lips set in an odd smirk.

Esme gasps and whips around to look at Alice. With her hands excitedly clasped together at her chest, she fondly smiles and says, "That's a lovely idea! Why didn't I think of that?"

Edward wets his lips and swallows, appearing uncharacteristically nervous. "I don't know..." he trails off.

"It's been a while since I've heard you play, son," Carlisle adds from his chair, his leg balancing casually on his knee. "I'd like to listen, too."

Edward's shoulders immediately droop and his head falls forward into his hand. Pinching the bridge of his nose, I hear a faint sigh escape his lips. He doesn't seem very thrilled by their idea. I'm thinking that he is either very shy when it comes to performing, _or_ he is right about Esme exaggerating his talent and he isn't too keen to demonstrate that fact to an audience.

"Go on, Edward! What are you waiting for?" Alice urges in a loud voice.

He makes no move to do or say anything in response. I watch as his fingers seem to press harder into the flesh of his nose. If he pinches any harder, I have no doubt that he will be leaving a mark.

Assuming that he just needs extra encouragement, I say in a lowered tone, "I'd like to hear you play."

"See, Edward?" Alice chirps with raised brow. "_Bella_ wants to hear you play, too. You don't want to offend her, _do you_?"

His hand drops from his face and he briefly shoots her a glare, appearing to want to tell her off. However, surprisingly enough, he makes no comment to what she said. Instead, he shimmies out of the loveseat and stalks over to the grand piano. Slowly lowering himself onto the piano bench, he stiffly sits there for a short time and stares forlornly down at the black and white keys.

"I don't know what to play," he eventually grumbles, his mouth frowning.

I expect for someone to suggest something simple like _Chopsticks,_ or maybe even a rousing rendition of the classic _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_.

"Why don't you play _Für Elise_? I'm sure Bella would enjoy it," Esme proposes, smiling at me.

Stunned by the song choice, my head snaps back in Edward's direction. _Für Elise _is a bit more complicated than what I was anticipating. It's a classic piano solo by Beethoven. For Esme to suggest it must mean that Edward is a bit more advanced than what I had assumed.

I catch him nod his head once to acknowledge her before he closes his eyes, shutting himself off from all outside influences. He sits that way for a span of at least ten seconds, breathing slowly through his nose.

The moment before he strikes the first key, his eyes reopen. And what I see there is something that I have only received brief glimpses of on rare occasions.

I finally see _him. _His _true_ self. And I am left reeling.

There is spark behind his eyes that wasn't there before, which ignites the instant he begins playing. The room soon fills with the heartfelt melody coming from his piano. He plays as though his life is at stake, the music consuming him completely. His body sways fluidly as he appears to not merely play the song but actually _feel_ it. Every movement he makes is precise and exudes confidence. And, in spite of his perfect posture, he somehow looks to be more relaxed and at peace than he was just three minutes ago.

My mouth gapes open like a fish. Esme was right. Edward _is_ talented. How can the fingers of the boy that tutors me in trig cause the piano to make such a heavenly sound? All those times when I heard him hum some classical tune or tap his fingers rhythmically on a table now has an explanation. He is a musical prodigy. And he never once hinted to me at what he can do.

Awestruck by his performance, everyone in the room except him evaporates from my consciousness. I can't look away from him. It feels as though I am witnessing a miracle - something that I'll still fondly recall many years from now. My range of vision is frozen solely on his face, not wanting to miss even an eye blink or twitch of his mouth.

The musical notes floating in the air penetrate my soul, simultaneously inspiring and seducing me. And I am forced to amend my earlier assessments of Edward. He isn't just a refined, polite boy that opens doors and saves damsels in distress from falling on their faces. He isn't even merely a brilliant musical prodigy. The truth is that he is a modern day Pied Piper. Armed with his piano and crooked smile, he lures me away from the fortress I constructed inside of my mind. Step by step, he leads me further down the path until I am left exposed and vulnerable.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to forget about crushes on handsome orphaned boys and gradually fall back down to reality. But the opposite has happened. In a month's time, that stupid crush grew until it has transformed into something stronger and much more worrying. And a few key strokes from a piano was all it took for Edward to finish damning me to an unknown future.

This isn't fair. Not at all.

A freezing cold hand suddenly takes me by the elbow, yanking me into a standing position and reminding me that there is more to this world than just Edward and his piano. In a half daze, I force myself to look away from him for a split second to see who has grabbed my arm. I vaguely see Alice walking backwards as she drags me across the room, her lips curved upwards. She says nothing, which is a relief since I don't believe I could understand anything being said to me right now. Although, if I could, I would ask if she and Emmett regularly shove their appendages in buckets of ice water. Then, I would ask her what a shy and reserved girl with absolutely no experience should do to save herself after she has fallen for someone she can't have.

The next thing I know, she carefully places me on the wooden bench beside Edward and backs away, disappearing from my line of sight as well as my mind almost instantly. Without removing his fingers from the piano keys, Edward turns his head until our eyes meet. His solemn expression steadily morphs into an entrancing smile.

In spite of the fact that my abrupt appearance should have distracted him, he continues to play flawlessly. Spellbound by my close view, I watch his fingers fly here and there on the keyboard. One second, his fingers are calm and produce gentle sounds. The next, they press the keys in a frenzy and concoct a flurry of musical notes that I can feel vibrating up my spine. It's easy to see that he plays with everything he has, holding nothing back.

I take a brief glance at the sheet music that rests nearby, expecting it to be _Für Elise._ But it is not. The sheet reads "_Take The 'A' Train_ By Duke Ellington". That is definitely not what Edward is currently performing. He has to go and have the complicated piano solo that he is playing _memorized _\- as though being some smart, ridiculously good looking musical prodigy isn't enough to leave me flabbergasted.

Soon, the song slows to an end and I assume that he is done wowing me. Of course, I am wrong again. His hands appear to not want to rest. Without pausing, the classical song blends perfectly into another melody. Something modern and catchy. And something _very_ familiar.

I laugh when I realize that he is now playing a Coldplay song, the one that features that piano earworm that gets stuck inside of your brain. Edward grins back tantalizingly with bright eyes, evidently pleased by my reaction. And since he appears unaffected by almost all distractions, he keeps right on playing. I'm sure both Beethoven _and_ Chris Martin would be proud to have that ability.

Waking up from my speechless spell, I narrow my eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me you could play?"

His mouth twists to the side ruminatively for a couple of seconds. "Have you told me everything that _you_ can do?" he counters in a breezy tone, alternating between looking down at the keyboard and watching my face.

I wait a moment to see if he will laugh at his little joke. But once it becomes clear that he is serious, I stare cynically back at him. He's kidding me, right? _He_ plays musical instruments like a professional. _I_ can balance checkbooks without using a calculator. We aren't exactly equals when it comes to impressive talents.

"No, but I can't do anything like _this_," I stress, tipping my head towards the piano. "How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was five years old," he says without hesitation. His eyes look down at his hands as he continues playing, appearing to think hard over something. Slowly, the corners of his mouth tilt up until I see a faint smile. "I was a...trying boy at the time, or so I was told," he goes on. "I drove my family up the walls with my childish antics. My mother was forced to find something that would occupy me for at least a little while everyday just to give them a break. Piano lessons were deemed to be the most appropriate... At first, I struggled with the fact that I had to stay in one place for an hour or more everyday. However, over time, I grew to love it."

"Do you plan to start a career in music one day?"

The music abruptly comes to a halt. His hands slide off the piano keys and fall to his knees. "I haven't really thought much about my future," he murmurs, his eyes temporarily darting away from my face to stare at his lap. "Basically, I have been taking things one day at a time. Though, my father - my _real_ father - wanted me to become an attorney like him. He thought that the piano should stay as a hobby of mine instead of a career... He believed it was my destiny to join his firm one day and fight in court alongside of him."

I can see bleakness on his face and even hear it in his voice. Being an attorney may be an admirable career goal, but it isn't right for everyone. And after seeing what Edward can do with a piano, I can't believe that anyone - let alone his biological father - could ever think that he should do anything else. This is no mere hobby or just a fun way for him to pass his spare time. He has a rare gift. And I cannot imagine him being stuck inside of a courtroom for eight hours a day when he should in actuality be performing inside of packed concert halls.

"And, let me guess, you didn't share his enthusiasm for becoming a lawyer," I say in a gentle tone.

"I had no interest in following in his footsteps," he confirms, his index finger gliding lightly over the keyboard. "But I wasn't prepared to go against his wishes either. So...I went along with the idea and kept quiet."

I blink back at him, bewildered by his admission. How could he not want to stand up for himself? If Charlie ever had the assumption that I would be soon joining the police force, I would squash that idea right away. Being forced into a career you don't want doesn't sound like a nice way to live.

"Why?" I ask, staring at him confusedly.

Edward squirms in place and takes a breath before answering my question. "My family was well-known in the area - and where I come from - people looked down upon artists and people who had blue collar types of jobs. If I were go against his wishes, it would have hurt both his personal and business reputations. I really had no choice," he finishes in a flat tone, his eyes downcast.

My brows smash together at his explanation. What messed up part of Chicago did _he_ come from? The Cullens are wealthy and seem eager to encourage his music abilities. So why would his own _parents_ not want to do the same just because they lived in a snooty section of town? We live in America - the land where you have the ability to achieve any dream that you may have if you work hard enough. This isn't Jane Austen's England where your father dictates who you can marry and decides how your life will play out.

"But, isn't this something that you love?" I press, unable to picture him doing anything else now. "How could it be wrong if you feel that deeply and passionate about it?"

His soulful, jade green eyes move back my way, his face appearing as enigmatic as Oedipus's sphinx. "I may love it, but that doesn't mean it would be the right thing to pursue," he slowly remarks.

"Is this because you think people here will look down on you?" I say, angered by the disturbing thought that he has devoted vast amounts of his life in trying to please a bunch of arrogant snobs instead of making himself happy. "But, you don't live in a place like that anymore. Your past is behind you. You can do whatever feels right to you _now_."

The look of isolation behind his eyes appears to strengthen as he stares back. "Even if I really don't belong here?"

My mouth pinches together at his question. This must be the result of being around some of the less welcoming people of Forks for the past several months. Mike has told me on several occasions and in various ways that he believes that Edward and the Cullens are freaks that shouldn't live here. God only knows what he has said to Edward to his face.

But the alternative is much worse. What if Edward never moved here? What if - after his parents passed away - one of his parents' acquaintances in Chicago decided to take him in so that he wouldn't have to leave? Then, he would have been stuck living in a place where he would have felt forced to conceal his talent forever. And that is an unfathomable fate that leaves me chilled to the bone.

Forks may not be much of a town. It rains here most of the time. The newspaper has no interesting stories to report. The busiest part of town boasts exactly one red light and only a few stop signs. But one aspect about this place that I _am_ proud of is that you can be whatever you want to be here. Most of the citizens of Forks don't mind what you look like or what you do as long as it isn't illegal. If you want to start up a shelter for neglected hamsters, the townsfolk will pat you on the back and say that it's a swell idea. If you want to talk to the plants in your garden and yell at squirrels for digging into your flowerbeds, people here might talk but no one will try to stop you as long as it makes you happy.

If Edward truly wishes to do something with his ability, Forks is the right place for him to start doing it.

Armed with this epiphany, I look back at him brazenly. "How do you know that you don't? Maybe you were supposed to come here. Maybe this is kismet."

Edward's eyes become as round as saucers while the rest of his body seems to have become paralyzed. "Kismet?" he says in a gravelly voice.

"You know. Fate. Destiny. Maybe coming here was the only way for you to become what you are supposed to be."

His Adam's apple moves up and down in his throat. By degrees, the corners of his mouth begin to lift into a small smile. "You bring up valid arguments, Miss Swan. I'll need to think about it."

I smile back at him, even managing to refrain from rolling my eyes at his antiquated use of _Miss Swan_ when referring to me. "Good," I say softly.

My eyes flick away from him and survey the room, wondering why Esme or Alice never tried to help me vanquish those despondent thoughts from his brain. But all I see as I look around the living room is an empty couch and two chairs with no occupants.

"Where is everyone?" I wonder aloud, turning back to Edward.

He gives a cursory glance around the room and casually shrugs. "I'm not sure. They must have had work to do," he replies, sounding strangely indifferent.

Before I can ask if the Cullens are magicians in the style of David Copperfield where they can make themselves vanish at the drop of a hat, Edward clears his throat. "Would you like to go to the library now?" he offers, one bronze brow arched.

My head immediately bobs up and down, my thoughts no longer bothered with mysterious beautiful people with golden eyes that dematerialize like ghosts. There are more important things to consider first, like the fact that there are _books_ hiding somewhere in this joint. And I need to check them out _now_ while he is still willing to show them to me.

I follow behind him as he leads us across the living room, up the grand staircase, and onto the second floor. A few steps later, he stops in front of a large double door. Edward turns both knobs at the same time, throwing the doors open wide and then standing to the side so that I may enter first.

When I was a child, there was only one female Disney animated movie character that I could identify with. I thought that most of the rest were either very dumb or very strange. Ariel didn't seem very bright - she took all of her advice from wild animals and thought that forks were combs. Snow White was weird because she seemed to enjoy cleaning up after _seven_ grown men that lived like slobs. Jasmine couldn't figure out that the guy that showed up at her palace claiming to be a prince was clearly the same, kind thief that she met the day before. These three examples alone should be considered solid proof that Disney royals need to broaden their genetic diversity. Cartoon peasants are usually sharper than they are.

So when I enter the inside of the Cullen library and take a look around, I almost believe that I stepped into another realm. This wonderful book-filled room should only exist in either my daydreams or a hit animated film. I half expect to discover a dancing candelabra crooning a musical number for my benefit. Or maybe I'll even spot a gigantic Beast with pointed canines but pure heart hiding in the corner. Belle herself is probably curled up somewhere reading one of the Cullens' books.

Floor to ceiling shelving encircles the room, each one boasting dozens of titles. Unlike the rest of what I have seen of the house, this room isn't composed of shades of white. Instead, it is made of a rich, warm wood and carpeted with colorful Oriental rugs. A desk covered with stacks of paper rests in a corner by a window. Black leather chairs are scattered around the entire room, presumably to give plenty of places to read comfortably.

Once I have thoroughly surveyed my surroundings, I spin around until I find Edward. He remains standing by the door, his shoulder leaning against the frame. I notice a lopsided smile on his face that melts my heart. And, curiously, entices me to make a confession.

"And here I thought you were just exaggerating when you said your family had a lot of books," I admit with faintly curved lips.

His smile fades and his manner turns more serious. "I would never lie to you," he declares, his voice strong and unwavering.

Before I can become trapped by his intensive gaze, I whip my face away in the opposite direction and stare at an oil painting that hangs far across the room. "I know," I respond, almost in a whisper.

I wander up to a shelf and pull a book at random, thankful that I have a legitimate distraction to take my mind off of probing green eyes and charming smiles. The book I hold is leather bound, its pages yellowed with age. _Thomae Bartholini Anatome Ex Omnium Veterum Recentiorumque Observationibu, _it reads. Hand drawn, anatomical illustrations appear throughout the book. I glance at the text and realize that it is in Latin. And it was made a hundred years before the Thirteen Colonies revolted against King George III. Terrified that I will absentmindedly tear a page and destroy it beyond repair, I place it back from where it came.

After I slip it back onto the shelf, I curiously study its neighbors. Soon, I deduce that all of the books in this area are medically related. Some are old and outdated but are likely still very valuable. Others are more modern and feature nauseatingly accurate pictures of the human body in different stages of illness. This area of the library must be for Dr. Cullen's benefit.

As I wander to the next section, I take a secretive peek to see what Edward is up to. I find him sitting on one of the sleek leather chairs, his eyes following me as I cross the room. He leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees, posed as though a photographer is about to take a candid snapshot of him.

The new area that I am in is comprised of cookbooks and other how-to guides concerning domestic life. The cookbooks interest me. Charlie loves fish, and I am running out of new ways to prepare it.

I pull a promising cookbook down and flip through it. The recipes sound interesting, but the directions leave much to be desired. The author uses vague terms such as teacupful, a heaping pinch, and a few grains. Where were the measuring cups when the author wrote this up? Curious, I turn back to the title page. I don't recognize the author's name. But I do notice that this was written in 1889. Well, that explains it. Measuring cups probably weren't popular yet back then.

I give up finding a cookbook that suits me and head over to a more promising area. _Fiction_. Now this is more like it. The titles seem to be arranged by genre. I see Fantasy novels such as _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _and every book written by J.R. Tolkien. Mystery and detective books written from the middle 1800s all the way up until the 1940s line the shelves. It appears that every genre is fairly represented.

I move like a sloth and closely examine the books' spines. I read each author's name silently, feeling as though I have found a dear, long lost friend with every step I take. Yet, I find my feet halting at one particular work and I scrunch my forehead, puzzled by an anomaly.

_Hmm_.

That's weird.

Someone accidentally placed Bram Stoker's Dracula in the Humor section.

Shrugging at the mistake, I move on until I find the romances. Some of the titles are ones that I have read before, but each one of _these_ books are hardcover first editions. The Cullens could probably sell just a few of them and have enough cash to restock the Forks Library with decent books.

Esme was correct when she said that most of their books are twentieth-century novels, although I do still find plenty to interest me. It isn't long before I find three books that are just too tempting to pass up. _Camellia_ by Frances Burney. _Pamela_ by Samuel Richardson. And _The Mysteries of Udolpho by _Ann Radcliffe_. _All of them are first editions and smell sweeter than heaven itself. There are many more novels on that shelf that I wouldn't mind checking out, but I am limiting myself to these three.

I show Edward the ones that I have chosen and ask if it's all right to borrow three instead of just two as I originally planned. He cocks his head and huffs a laugh. "Of course," he replies as though I should already have known what his answer would be.

We stroll through the soundless house, not seeing another soul as we pass through. When we step outside, I warily peer up into the darkening sky and crush the books closer into my chest to protect them from any evil watery mist, rain, and sleet. However, for once I have good luck. The rain from this afternoon has ended and there is no precipitation in sight.

The ride home in his car is much the same as it was earlier, yet it feels different in a way. Soulful music plays over his car's speakers, its singers describing feelings of longing and heartbreak that I can relate to now. We pass by miles of lonely countryside with very few signs of human life. Neither one of us speaks very often. Edward looks to be working hard on maneuvering his car down the curving, county roads without crashing into a telephone pole. As for me, I'm lost in my thoughts.

Earlier at the piano, I had wondered what would have become of him if he had never left Chicago. But I failed to consider what would have happened to _me_. Forks without Edward sounds too horrific to contemplate. I'm not sure if I could have dealt with living here as well as I have without his assistance. He has become the best distraction, keeping me for the past few weeks from focusing on the gloomier aspects of this place.

But when I think harder, it becomes apparent that I have carved out a more dynamic life in Forks than I had all those years in Phoenix. I have friends like Angela and Jessica that I spend quality girl time with. I never quite had anything more than female acquaintances in Arizona. I no longer sit alone in a Phoenix lunchroom because many of the other students make me feel inadequate. In Forks, I always have at least one person that I feel comfortable enough to speak to. And, in addition to those things, I am well acquainted with possibly the only teenage boy whom I can say the term _vexatious_ without him looking at me like I just spoke in Klingon. That alone makes the move worth it.

It's ten till six o'clock when he pulls into my driveway. I'm relieved to see that Charlie isn't home yet. That means I can ball up the note I left for him and toss it in the trash. He'll never know I left today. I have found that the less questions from him that I have to answer, the better it is for the both of us.

My hand wraps around the car's handle and I push the door open. One sneaker lands on the driveway, and I abruptly stop moving. I have neglected to do something very important, and I can't leave until I do it.

"Will you please tell your parents that I said thank you for the books?" I request, my teeth digging into my lip.

He nods his head up and down, his gaze never leaving my face. "Certainly I will."

"And thank you, too."

An engaging smile crosses his face, illuminating the poorly lit car interior. "You don't need to thank me, Bella. It's just a couple of books," he replies, his voice as melodic as his grand piano.

"I'm not thanking you for just the books," I hastily explain. "I'm thanking you for everything. I-I mean-"

I snap my mouth shut, well aware that I was very close to saying something stupid that would be difficult to explain away. Thanking him for crooked smiles and wearing pleasing scents which happen to brighten my ordinarily mundane existence would show my hand. I need to be _smart_. And verbally showing my gratitude for having the opportunity to study the intriguing shades of bronze and copper hair on his head is not a good idea. I need to come off as being more of a friend than a freak.

I take one more ragged breath and regather my wits. "Goodnight, Edward," I blurt out. Then, I hop out of Edward's car and close the door before he can ask follow-up questions concerning my near blunder.

In a near panicked state, I unlock the front door and rush inside of the house, slamming it behind me in the same manner I would do if a rabid dog were nipping at my heels. I take a moment to collect myself and to slow my rapidly thumping heart. Looking around at my surroundings, I see that the house is dark and still. The air has chilled somewhat since Edward and I were here studying earlier.

A noise from outside makes me peek out of the door's tiny, curtained window. The sound is his car's tires grinding against gravel as it backs out of the driveway. It makes me smile a little to see that I can make a gigantic ass of myself in his Volvo and he will _still_ wait until he knows for sure that I am safely inside of my house. He's a good person - even if he may soon have plans to attend a dumb dance with a girl as beautiful but sour as Lauren Mallory. Hopefully, her unfriendly aura won't accidentally rub off on him.

I watch until the crimson taillights disappear from view. Instantly the house feels ten degrees colder. I turn up the thermostat, gently place my newly borrowed books on the kitchen table, and prepare a quick dinner of canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Thank goodness Charlie doesn't really care what he eats as long as it is prepared with butter, cheese, and topped with a generous helping of sour cream.

For the rest of the evening, I absorbedly read of the woes of fictional characters living in late eighteenth century England. It's nice to concentrate on other people's problems instead of dwelling on my own for a change.

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**A/N- Things that help me write better and faster: Having quiet children that don't ask for snacks every ten minutes, and your review. The first one rarely happens. Can you help me out with the second? *insert big eyes and pleading hands***

**Next Chapter\- The boys at school act weird (well, weirder than usual). Jessica has a breakdown all because of Mike. And Edward creates some gossip to titillate the bored students at Forks High. Isn't that nice of him?**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	14. All Shook Up

**Chapter 14- All Shook Up**

**March 2, 2005**

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When I rush out the front door the next morning, I eat a balanced breakfast of a cold strawberry Pop Tart and chug down a can of room temperature Dr. Pepper. I'm running a couple of minutes late and need to get to my locker before school starts. That sounds like something that shouldn't take long to do, but in actuality, it is an arduous task. My locker is the most beat up, piece of crap that you could come across. The locking mechanism sticks thanks to the last bozo that used it. He (or she) appears to have had an unresolved anger management issue and used the door to take out their frustrations. Because of that, it usually takes a lot of pulling, wiggling, kicking, and pleading for me to get it opened.

As I arrive at school, students are either strolling to their first class or huddled into small groups to share the latest news. One such group is stationed alongside the sidewalk that leads to my locker. It's Lauren's posse of friends - or the Maybelline Gang, as I have christened them, due to their tendency to slather their faces with so much make-up that it accounts for approximately five percent of their bodyweight. She stands in the very middle - one hand on her hip and eyes rolling to the heavens - as she yaps to her followers. Lauren holds no books nor lugs no backpack over her slim shoulders. One of her devotees probably carries them for her just so she won't risk suffering the indignity of cracking a nail.

Lauren's gaze fixes on me as I try to unobtrusively pass by, her eyes appearing colder than the blood pumping through a reptile's veins. Yet, I am surprised when her glossy lips turn up into a razor edge smile. Hate-filled glares are rarely harbingers of good news.

"Oh. Hi, _Becca_," she calls out, her voice as sweet as arsenic. "I just _love_ what you have on today. Pulling off that rugged, lumberjack look is - like - _so_ hard, isn't it?" The gaggle of gossips surrounding her immediately snort and snicker at her comment, the nearest equivalent to applause she could ask for.

I frown a little but don't otherwise show them how much their derision bothers me. My focus stays on getting away from Lauren before she can come up with something wittier to insult me with. I guess I could have fought fire with fire by telling her that the tacky, low rise ruffled skirt she chose to wear today is so short that it looks like she ripped it off of a Bratz doll. But I'm not brave enough to say anything like that out loud. So I instead hold my head high and keep on walking, bolstered by the thought that maybe karma will take pity on me and give her a zit tomorrow in retaliation to her childish putdown.

I can still hear their muffled giggling while I struggle to open my locker. I discover that there is a bright side to being mocked by the most popular girl in school. My pent up frustration helps me to shake my stupid locker door open in record time. Around one minute and fifteen seconds by my reckoning. Imagining that I was wringing her neck as I shook it turned out to really help a lot.

I arrive to English class with plenty of time to spare. The teacher isn't even here yet. Most of the students are out of their seats and talking amongst themselves. From across the room, Mike spots me dropping down onto my usual desk's chair and abruptly stops chatting with Eric. They both come over to say hello.

"Did you hear?" says Mike after he takes a seat in the next row. "It's supposed to be really nice this weekend. The sun's finally coming out." As he says this, he releases a starry-eyed sigh.

It's hard not to wince at his gullibility. One thing I learned long ago is to never, _ever_ believe what the meteorologists tell you if they are trying to predict the weather here in the Olympic Peninsula. Unless they are legitimate psychics, there is a very good chance their prediction will be plagued with inaccuracies. Forks produces rainclouds like a factory that never gives its employees a break. I can't even begin to think of all of the times when Charlie and I had to cancel our plans all because of a faulty forecast. Even in the summer months when they promise gorgeous sunny skies, it's always a good idea to bring your umbrella.

"That's great," I say instead, giving him a wan smile. There's no sense for me to ruin his day with bothersome facts. If he hasn't figured out by now how this place works after living here for seven years, there's no hope for him.

He nods and leans his body a little closer as though he has a secret to share. "Yeah, it is. That's why I think we should go down to First Beach this Saturday. It might be weeks before we can get this kind of opportunity again. I can teach you how to roast a marshmallow without burning it."

Startled by the remark, my body freezes like a mannequin. Mike hasn't tried to ask me for a date in weeks. I became complacent and stopped worrying myself about it, assuming that he had finally given up on me. Now I see that he was just biding his time.

With rising panic, my muddled brain desperately tries to construct an excuse to get out of this. By chance, I notice that Mr. Mason has scribbled a reminder for us on the chalkboard. Inspiration strikes, and I weave a tale that even someone as experienced in lying as Edward would probably approve of.

I suck in a breath while clenching my teeth, seeming as though what I am about to say hurts me just as much as it will him. "Gee, Mike. That _does_ sound like fun, but I doubt I'll be able to go. I have a school project that I haven't even started on, and my dad would want me to get it done before the end of the weekend. He's adamant about me using my spare time wisely so I can get into a decent college."

This isn't exactly a lie. I have an English paper due next Wednesday. I'm sure if Charlie knew of it, he would want me to finish it asap.

From the desk behind me, Eric groans as though he has a bellyache, his hand slicking back his tar black hair. "Aw, come on! You can't stay at home _all_ weekend. You'll miss out on everything! There'll be a bonfire. And _food_. You won't have to bring anything. All you have to do is show up."

"You're going, too?" I ask with rising hope. If Eric is coming, maybe I misunderstood Mike's suggestion.

"Sure! A bunch of us are," he explains. He then recites a list of at least fifteen people that have already confirmed that they will be attending.

My mouth purses as I mull over this new information. This changes things a bit. If there are lots of people at First Beach, there's no way that Mike can mistake it as a date between the two of us. Plus, Eric mentioned that Jessica is planning on going too. As long as I make sure that she will be there to act as a buffer between Mike and me, I should be fine. Additionally, going out for a few hours does sound better than me moping around the house. Being reduced to pathetically wondering what Edward does on a Saturday night really tires me out.

"OK," I agree. "I'll come. I'll try to get all my work done in the next couple of days."

Eric and Mike's eyes meet and they grin widely, appearing more thrilled than the occasion calls for. This is another interesting manifestation that happens sometimes to the citizens of Forks. It's so dull here, even little things like me agreeing to go eat bologna sandwiches on a chilly beach in March makes its townspeople happy. God help them if something actually interesting happened - like a celebrity deciding to move here, or a McDonald's opening up that features a kids play area. They wouldn't know what to do with themselves.

When class ends an hour later, Mike tags alongside me and yaks about the upcoming trip as we exit the English room. However, once we leave most of the crowds behind us, he slows down to a crawl.

"Ya know, I'm really glad you decided to come to La Push with us," he comments.

I match his crawling pace and clear my throat before I speak. "Oh. Well, it sounds like a lot of fun. I haven't been there in years."

Back when I would come to visit Charlie during the summer, he would take me to La Push at least once before I would leave to go home. My memories of the place are kind of hazy. All I can really recall is a quaint peddled beach and chilly seawater.

His eyes flit around at the students passing by and his hand rubs the back of the neck. "Listen, Bella," he says in a lowered voice. "There's something I've been wondering-"

"Hi, Bella!" a voice squeaks to the side. Jessica rushes up to us, her notebooks and a textbook resting in her arms. After giving me a quick glance, her eyes immediately seek Mike's face and stay glued there.

"Hey," I say back. I don't dare say anything else. It would be useless. She's in I'm-staring-at-Mike-cause-he's-just-the-dreamiest land. I've lost her to all coherent thought and speech patterns until further notice.

With her free hand, she fluffs her hair. "Um, Mike?" she begins, coyly smiling. "Do you mind if I talk with you for a sec?"

Mike's face sags a little as he peeks my way. "Sure," he replies in an exhaled breath.

I say my goodbyes and continue on to my second period class, leaving them alone on the sidewalk.

An hour passes. When the bell rings again, I enter third period Trig and see a frowning Jessica sitting at her desk. Her eyes are downcast while she stares unblinkingly at her hot pink fingernails resting on her desk. She isn't chatting or gossiping with anyone. She isn't even smiling or bouncing in her seat. I've never seen her look this way before.

All attempts to get her to talk end with little success. I ask if there's anything wrong, but she is evasive with her response. All she will say is that she just isn't having a very good day. My mouth twists to the side. Jessica not telling me what is currently wrong is not like her either. She willingly tells everyone around her what she thinks and how she feels, even if you don't want to hear it. Once, she told the lunch lady that she couldn't take a plain vanilla pudding because only chocolate helps her deal with her painful cramps.

Even when I offer to do something that I absolutely loathe (which is asking if she has heard any juicy, new gossip lately), she shrugs indifferently and says that she hasn't. This makes me _very_ concerned. She thrives on gossip. If she doesn't want to talk about who's cheating on who, or share the details of a first date she heard about secondhand, then there must be something seriously wrong.

She stays in this quiet, glum mood throughout third and fourth periods. When noon rolls around, she and I walk to the cafeteria silently. The only sound she makes is when we pass by a huge poster advertising that stupid girls' choice dance next Saturday night. She glances at it with drooping eyes, then let's out a long, drawn out sigh.

We enter the cafeteria and join the end of the line to buy our lunch. As I do every school day at this time, my eyes scour the room for a mop of perfectly messy hair. And much to my relief, I discover Edward already here and sitting at my table. Angela is his only companion, sitting in a chair across the table from him.

With our food bought, Jessica and I leave the line and cross the room. I notice that since I last checked, Mike has joined Angela and Edward at the table. His face is directed exclusively towards his tray of food, only moving when he wants to shove down a fish stick like a sword swallower.

I pull out the chair next to Edward and catch a hint of a smile on his face when our eyes meet, which helps to lighten my mood a little. But before I can enjoy it or even say a word to him, Jessica loudly yanks out the empty chair on his other side and takes a seat.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I stare at her. Why isn't she sitting next to Mike today? For the past few weeks, she always goes for whichever chair is next to him - even going so far as begging others to move so that she may achieve her goal. Yet here she is now, going to sit by her old, imaginary love interest.

"Hi, Edward!" she squeals, a newly plastered smile on her face. "I was just thinking. I thought that I should sit by you today. It's been a really long time since you and I had a nice, long talk."

Edward blinks back at her for a few seconds, an unmistakable air of bewilderment emanating from him. "Err... Yes, it has," he drawls in a wary tone.

"How has _your_ day been so far?" she continues.

He takes a small breath, holds it, and then slowly releases it. "It's been tolerable."

Grinning like a maniac who just busted out of the looney bin, she says between gritted teeth, "That's great! Really, _really_, great!"

Appearing uncomfortable by her attention (or the fact that she looks like she is on the verge of a nuclear meltdown), he sits up in his chair and gently places his fork back onto his tray. As he focuses back at her, the tip of his tongue darts out to moisten his top lip and he sucks in a breath.

"And, umm, how has your day been?" he questions in a soft tone, sounding as gentle as someone trying to convince a Rottweiler not to take a chunk out of their behind.

The question seems innocent to me. Nothing to get worked up about. But Jessica appears to take it much differently. Her bottom lip trembles and her dark brown eyes turn misty. Everyone at the table tenses up. Except for Mike. He's too busy chowing down on his school lunch to take much notice of what's going on.

"You're asking _me_ how I am?" she stresses after a short time. Her eyes flick over to Mike for a moment and almost instantly narrow into slits. Her attention then whips back to Edward with a face set in inflated surprise. "Wow! I guess there _are_ guys at this school that actually _care_ about other people's feelings!"

After that cynical comment, she begins stabbing her side salad's tomatoes with her fork like Jack The Ripper - a little line appearing in between her eye brows - and stuffing them into her waiting mouth.

Complete silence engulfs the table. Angela and I blink at each other in unison, concern evident on both of our faces. Yes, Jessica is normally a drama queen. Yes, she usually enjoys having attention drawn to herself and isn't above overinflating her problems to drum up interest. But _this_ is different.

After she murdered a few cucumbers and tomatoes with the tines of her fork, her manner seems slightly calmer. Releasing a puff of air, a new, odd smile appears.

"So," she says, drawing out the word. "Edward. What have you been up to lately?"

He takes a brief, apprehensive peek in my direction before addressing her question. "Nothing especially exciting. Just studying and such."

A laugh on par with the Joker cackling at Batman pops out of her mouth, leading me to wonder if I should contact a exorcist to expel anything demonic from inside of her. However, this strange laugh does have the benefit of causing Mike to finally look up from his lunch tray. Their gazes cross and hold for a moment. On a normal day if she were to catch Mike's eye like this, she would either giggle and flirt outrageously, or sigh and continue staring at him as though he is the swooniest boy to ever roam Forks High.

Today, she does neither.

Jessica darts her fluttering eyes back to Edward, and her grin becomes wide and exaggerated. "Really?" she chirps with more enthusiasm than before. "That's _so_ interesting! What else have you been doing? Watch any good movies lately?"

Understanding slowly dawns upon me. She's trying to make Mike jealous by showering Edward with attention. And I guess it might be working. Mike is watching the two of them closer than before.

With lowered forehead, Edward's mouth twitches, seeming to struggle to come up with an answer. "Uh...I watched _Casablanca_ the other day with Jasper."

Her chin falls into her hand and she leans intimately towards Edward, her body vibrating in her chair. "You did? That sounds great! When did that come out? I don't think I've seen it being advertised."

A brief wince crosses Edward's face before it vanishes. "Well...it's a fairly old movie. We watched it at home," he kindly explains.

"Oh, OK," she nods, not embarrassed at all by that revelation. She straightens up in her seat but keeps her eyes locked on him. "Thanks for answering my question, Edward," she barks out in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. "I _really_ appreciate it. Isn't it just the _worst_ when you ask someone a question and they try to _avoid_ answering you?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be rather annoying," he agrees with a cautious nod of his glorious, bronze head.

She does another Joker laugh, causing a couple of freshmen boys at the next table over to look at us with big, frightened eyes. Judging by their worried expressions, they'll probably find a new table to sit at tomorrow.

"See? I knew that _you_ would understand what I was trying to say. You would _never_ put off giving somebody an answer. Would you?" she presses, her brows smashing together.

My face grimaces with this additional information. Things are beginning to make sense to me now. Jessica was fine when I saw her earlier this morning. It wasn't until after she wanted to speak with Mike did she plummet into a depression. Then, when we walked by the school dance poster, her face showed only despair - not the excitement that she displayed when she spoke of it yesterday during lunch. And perhaps what is most telling is that she has been either purposely ignoring Mike today or staring at him stonily - her customary look of longing no where in sight.

This can only mean one thing - she asked him to the dance this morning. And he hasn't given her an answer yet.

At her question, Edward's eyes flick from my face to Angela's, probably desperate for advice on how he should proceed. The two of us stare back helplessly, both of us clueless of what to say or do.

"Uhh..." he hums, moving nervously in his seat.

"Cause you're not that type of guy. Whenever I've asked you something you _always_ give your answer right away," she goes on, oblivious to his discomfort. "Remember? Like that time I asked you if you wanted to go to Brandy Ferguson's Christmas party with me and you told me that you couldn't because you had to go donate blood plasma that day? You told me right then and there. And you told me real quick, too. You said it so fast that it was like you had it memorized or something!" Then she erupts into carefree giggles, smiling up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

He chuckles back with a tight smile. It's highly likely that he _did_ have that excuse memorized. Jessica doesn't realize how close to the truth she really is.

Now that Jessica has a legitimate smile on her face, Angela gathers the courage to talk and tells a gossipy story she overheard during her History class. The distraction seems to help Jessica, keeping her from laughing manically or weeping into her hands. I feign interest in the subject and try to keep the conversation flowing in the right direction. Edward contributes by asking probing questions about other people's lives he probably doesn't even know or care about.

As for Mike, he remains quiet during the lunch hour. He eats. He watches us. He listens. But never does he say anything. It isn't until it's time to go to Biology does he speak again. After Jessica leaves to go to her sixth period, he saddles up beside me and starts talking about how great the hiking trails are at La Push, telling me that they're so easy that "even a baby could walk them". I want to remind him that I can't walk across the cafeteria without finding something to trip over, so his description is slightly offensive to me.

He follows me to my lab table and sits on the edge, going on and on about hiking strategies for amateurs. Edward sits in his metal chair two feet away, his face pointed down to his opened notebook. The two of them never talk to one another. As much as I have tried to have a conversation with both of them at the same time, it never works out in the end. Mike completely ignores Edward and only talks to me, and Edward practically becomes mute whenever Mike is nearby.

"The spring dance is coming up soon," says Mike, suddenly switching topics.

I have to keep myself from groaning in agony. Talking about a lame school dance is worse than listening to him describing what can happen if a hiker doesn't dig a proper sized latrine. At least that subject is _almost_ interesting and has a moral.

"Yeah. I heard about that."

Crossing his arms across his lap, he says, "It's supposed to be a lot of fun..."

"I'm sure it will be," I agree with a head nod.

His mouth jerks to the side and huffs out a long breath. Several seconds pass before he presses on. "Have you bought a dress yet?"

Knitting my brows, I refrain from saying anything right away. Mike likes chatting about wool socks and thermal underwear - not frilly dresses.

"No. Why would I need a dress?"

Clearing his throat, he begins fiddling with his fingers. "Uhh. You know...to wear that night."

I have to force myself to not snort a laugh. Most of the kids at this school don't understand that not everyone wants to go to a high school dance. The concept is foreign to them. They automatically assume that you plan on going to every and any school function just because it's something to do.

"I don't need one. I'm not going," I reveal, shaking my head back and forth.

Mike's eyes abruptly acquire a new shine that was not there before. "Oh, so no one asked you yet?" he questions, his voice rising in an oddly hopeful way.

Feeling as though I have awoken inside of a room surrounded by booby traps, I look back at him guardedly. Deep within my brain, my frontal lobe is trying to come up with a plausible scenario to explain Mike's newfound interest in dresses and school dances. And it's scaring me. A lot.

Taking my time, I choose my words carefully. "No... No one's asked me. But, anyway, isn't it supposed to be girls' choice?" As in, Jessica asks you to go, and then you accept. At least that's how it's supposed to work. I'm becoming worried that he is attempting to take a different path.

"Well, yeah," he concedes, his knee bouncing. Without looking at me directly, he adds, "But, what if someone were to ask you? Would you go to the dance _then_?"

With my worst suspicions confirmed, I try to remain calm. He's asking me to the dance without actually asking. I have to give him kudos on the strategy. Since he doesn't use the actual words "will you go to the dance with me?", he is safe from rejection. I'm not really saying "no" to him. It saves his self-esteem and keeps me from feeling as awful.

I give him a faint smile to lessen the blow before I give a response. "No."

I expect for Mike to look disappointed. Or maybe even a little sad if he had his heart set on going with me. Instead, his brow ridge sinks down in his very best impersonation of Oscar The Grouch. "Why not?" he grumbles.

I had hoped he would drop the subject without pushing for an explanation. I had hoped he would accept that I don't want to go to a dance without making a big thing about it.

You would think by now that I would learn that my life is never that easy.

Desperately, I search for a way to escape from his curiosity. I picture myself running from the classroom, hopping into my truck, and gunning it out of town. Of course, I can't do that right now.

But that does give me an idea...

"I-uh, I have plans that day," I claim. Inside of my mind, I'm busy scrambling to make up the details before he can ask.

Mike's blue eyes sharpen into pinpoints and he squints in a way that makes me uneasy. "Plans? Plans to do _what_?" he stresses coldly.

I try to overlook his sour mood and concentrate on making my excuse believable. What I say will likely be spread around. And I'm sure the closer we get to that stupid dance, the more people will be nosily asking me why I'm not going. Saying that I have other plans _now_ will save me headaches down the road.

"I'm...going out of town that day. To Seattle," I say, looking him straight in the eye. If I were lying, it would be hard for me to do this. But I'm not really lying. I don't mind getting out of Forks for the day. I can drive to Seattle, sightsee, shop a little, and come back home at dark. Going there will probably even help distract me that day from thoughts of handsome bronze-haired boys going to lame school dances with girls that look pretty on the outside but are rotten where it counts.

His scowl gradually fades and is replaced with a pronounced pout. "Can't you go some other weekend?" he says in a high-pitched moan.

"Nope. I've been putting it off for weeks as it is. I have to go next Saturday no matter what."

"But the dance won't be the same without you," he responds in a nicer tone than before. "What if I told you that I..._know_ someone that would be willing to take you?"

I sigh passes through my lips before I can stop it. Ordinarily I admire persistence, but I can't say that I do right now.

"No thanks, Mike. I really can't go," I weakly smile.

I watch the corners of his mouth drop into a frown, making me feel kind of sorry for him.

Then I recall that he put off giving Jessica an answer just so he could come ask me to go, so I don't feel quite as bad.

"So, who are you going with?" I question lightheartedly, secretly praying that he hasn't destroyed his chances with the one girl that's eager to be with him that night.

His body droops a little, and his lips curl up in a look of scorn. "I guess I'm going with Jessica," he mumbles.

I give a real smile, relief flooding through me. If he would only sound _happy_ to go with her, maybe everything will turn out all right in the end. "That's great. I'm sure you two will have a lot of fun together."

Mike slides off the table and begins moving over to his assigned seat, no longer interested in talking. "Yeah... A lot of fun."

Once he is out of range, I let loose a sigh and relax into my chair. It's hard work trying to not hurt someone's feelings when they like you but you don't like them back.

In my peripheral vision, Edward's lustrous hair catches my attention. I turn and see his notebook filled with our Biology notes open in front of him, though I am somewhat surprised to find his probing green eyes are studying _me_ instead.

Mr. Banner chooses this exact moment to begin class, so I have to limit my interaction with Edward to a small smile. Any conversations I may wish to have with him will have to wait until after school.

An hour later, the bell clangs and I stand up to collect my things from our shared table. Mike zooms by me like the Roadrunner and goes straight out the door.

Hmm. That's different. Usually, he walks to Gym with me since we share that same class...

"Bella?" croons the voice that haunts my dreams.

My body swivels around until I find Edward standing off to the side of our table. His books are tucked relaxedly at his hip, using a one handed technique that makes me a little envious of his advanced coordination skills.

"Umm, about this trip to Seattle," he continues, his lips pursued musingly. "Were you really planning on going there or was it just an excuse?"

My eyes fly open. I've been caught red-handed. Was it really that easy to see through my lie? Or, is he just so accustomed to making up excuses that he has a built-in lie detector?

"I... Uh," I stammer brilliantly.

Before my brain can think of how to respond, he adds, "I'm asking for more than just curiosity's sake, Bella. You see, I need to go to Seattle that day, too. My music collection is sadly lacking." One corner of his mouth curves up into a smile. And then he winks playfully.

Thousands of my brain cells die in a mass extinction event similar to the asteroid that killed off the dinosaurs. Crooked smiles and simultaneous winks can evidentially play havoc with poor, virginal girls' intelligence.

"What?" I exhale in a daze, feeling unsure if I can remain standing up without support. I still have Gym to contend with today. I need to make it there before I pass out. At least then Coach Clapp can't mark me as absent if my lifeless body lies on the gymnasium floor.

Like a baby learning how to first walk, I put one foot in front of the other and attempt to leave Biology class. Edward stays at my side, which is a good thing for me. Since he is the cause of my current discombobulation, I guess he should be the one to make sure I don't break an arm while I stroll to my last class.

Once in the open air, he begins talking again. "I was thinking that perhaps we could combine our resources and go together. We could take my car since it uses less gasoline than your truck. And, plus, as the saying goes, '_there's safety in numbers_'. I certainly would feel far more secure if I had a companion like you to protect me from the unknown," he finishes in a teasing tone.

My feet become like weights, refusing to go one more inch. I think I understand what he's trying to say, but I find it hard to believe. He's either pulling a prank on me Ashton Kutcher style, or he's unaware that I plan on going to Seattle on the day of the dance.

"You want to go with me?" I ask with mounting confusion.

"If it's all right with you, of course," he nods, his eyes never leaving my face.

"But aren't you going to be too busy that day to go anywhere?"

Now it's Edward's turn to look confused. His forehead crumples down and he blinks back. "No. What else would I be doing?"

"Well..." I sigh. "I thought you would be going to the dance that night for one thing."

"I'm not going to that."

I gulp nervously and add, "But someone told me that you might be taking Lauren."

His nose crinkles up and his mouth pinches together as though he just sucked on a sour lemon. "That's ridiculous. Who told you such a thing?" he asks, his tone laced with outrage.

I begin walking once more, unsure of what I should say. Maybe Lauren was planning on asking him but hasn't had the chance yet. Or maybe she wants to make it a big surprise for him. And here I am almost ruining it. I may not like her, but I _do_ like him.

But, I also can't lie. Not to Edward. He doesn't deserve to be lied to. So I have no choice but to tell him the truth.

"Lauren. At lunch yesterday," I confess, looking straight ahead. I don't want to see any excitement he may have because of this news.

We're nearly at the gymnasium doors when his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I stop avoiding him and meet his eyes. There's no smile on his face like I feared I would see. There's only a look of revulsion.

"She never asked me, Bella. And, even if she had, I would never accept."

"Why not?"

Edward raises one challenging brow. "Why would I want to? I regard Lauren as a person that must be endured. She is not the type of person that I would want to associate with either inside or outside of school. I have spent months trying to avoid her at all costs."

The angered look in his eyes gradually changes. Hardened jade becomes a soft, grassy-green field. I peer into them, becoming lost almost immediately.

His voice drops down an octave, sounding sweet and husky all at once as he adds, "Besides, I prefer kind, _interesting_ people that can talk about subjects other than themselves or the faults of others. I prefer spending my time with people that don't realize just how perfect they really are."

My breathing accelerates by the onslaught of things happening around me. It's almost too much stimulation for me to handle. But two facts manage to stand out.

He isn't going anywhere with Lauren. He doesn't even _like_ Lauren.

All that worrying I did yesterday and today was for nothing. I can feel my heart picking up its broken pieces and hurriedly glueing them back together.

"Would you like some company on your trip?" Edward asks, piercing through my muddled thoughts.

On its own, my head nods in a slow pattern, appearing as though I have been hit with unbelievable news. Which I have.

"OK," I say in a near whisper.

His answering grin almost blinds me. "Good."

We stare at one another for a short time - me in shock, him with a smile that isn't helping my I.Q. points any. He's the first to break the connection when he turns to peek at our surroundings.

"I suppose I should get to class before I'm late," he remarks with a twisted mouth.

_Crap_. I almost forgot we were at school. My head is currently floating around in the stratosphere thanks to him. I can barely think, let alone walk. And I have to go to _gym_ like this.

"Yeah. Me, too," I mutter with rapidly blinking eyes. Backing away towards the door, I add, "Uh, see ya later." Then I rush inside of the gym before I do anything embarrassing in front of him. Like faint. Or drool.

In the girls locker room, I quickly change into our school's uniform of sweatpants and baggy Forks High t-shirt. I'm the last student out and I barely make it to the gym floor on time. Coach Clapp tells the class that we're playing basketball today and divides us into teams. Mike winds up on the opposing side. This makes my mouth frown a little. Although Mike may not have the best social skills, he _is_ decent at most of the games our coach forces us to play, whereas I am not. Since I moved here, Mike has taken it upon himself to help me out during games of tennis, volleyball, kickball, and the like. Today, however, it looks like I'm on my own.

I've learned a couple of tactics to handle the stress of gym class. As long as you run around as if you know what you're doing and keep your eyes on whatever ball is being thrown or kicked around, Coach Clapp can't claim that you're not involving yourself in the game.

Additionally, word of my clumsiness has gotten around. The students that actually like playing these games have discovered that tossing me the ball only results in me spraining an ankle and the loss of points. So no one trusts me enough to pass me the ball anymore. That doesn't bother me one bit.

The basketball game starts the moment the coach blows his whistle. Sneakers squeak on the slick gym floor as students chase after the boy currently dribbling the ball down the court. While they have fun, I divide my thoughts on two things - making it appear that I give a crap about any of this, and Edward. Edward gets a decidedly more generous portion of my concentration.

He says he wants to go to Seattle. _With me_. I still can't wrap my head around it. He could go anytime he wants, I'm sure. He has his own reliable transportation. He can afford the gas it will take to get there. So why would he want to drive me there, too? Does he get bored easily and just wants a friend to tag along? Or is he worried about falling asleep behind the wheel of his car? The drive is around three hours there and three back. Maybe he's narcoleptic. He probably needs someone like me to poke him in the side whenever he begins to doze off.

I drop that conundrum and soon my thoughts turn to when he spoke about Lauren. Or, (more specifically) what he said _after_ he made it clear he doesn't like being around her. He said that he likes being around kind people that don't realize how perfect they really are.

So what does _that_ mean?

Who was he talking about? Was he talking about _me_? Emmett? Alice? Esme?

_Who?!_

He's so mysterious. Sometimes it feels like he speaks in riddles. I guess I should have pressed for more information when I had the chance. It would be awkward to bring it up again. What would I say? Excuse me, Edward. Remember when you said-

_Boink_!

Something smacks the top of my head and I feel myself falling. There's a vague pain up there too as my vision flashes to white.

"You all right there, Swan?" a gruff, authoritative voice asks.

Slowly, my eyes creep open - which I hadn't realized were even closed. Coach Clapp hovers over me, his thick brow ridge furrowed. High above him is the gymnasium's ceiling. And scattered behind him, I spot a dozen faces gaping back at me with looks ranging from concern to downright smirks.

That's when it occurs to me that I am flat on my back in the middle of the floor.

_Wonderful_. Someone must have tried to toss me the damn ball and it hit me square on the head. I need to know who this person is so we can clear matters up. They must not have received the memo that Bella Swan can't handle fancy moves like catching basketballs the size of pumpkins. Or running. Or walking. Basically anything that requires movement.

"I'm fine," I softly lie. At least I am fine physically. I don't have double vision. I'm pretty sure that I could say the alphabet forwards and backwards. But I am _not_ fine mentally. I just humiliated myself spectacularly. And all because I was so focused on what went on with Edward, I stopped paying attention to my surroundings.

I have learned an important lesson today. Daydreaming about him can be dangerous.

The coach's eyebrow arches doubtfully at my claim. "Go sit on the bench," he orders in a sigh.

This new command perks me up into a sitting position. Getting nailed on the head isn't so bad if it gets me out of playing basketball. Maybe I can pay somebody to throw the ball at my head at the start of every game...

I watch the rest of the students play while I sit on the sidelines with an icepack balancing atop my scalp. I don't need it but it does give me a nice, injured look that helps to keep me off the court. There's a tiny bump in that area that wasn't there before. I'm afraid to see how many bumps I have up there in total. Sadly, getting bonked on my noggin isn't a rare occurrence for me.

As soon as the coach dismisses the class, I go to the locker room and slip back into my jeans and long-sleeved shirt. Lastly, I scoop up my things and head for the door, eager to get home and wait for a certain someone to show up for our daily study session.

The first thing I see when I exit the gym is Edward.

His shoulder leans against the red bricks of the gymnasium, an ankle crossed upon the other. One arm holds his books. His other hand's thumb is wedged casually in his front pants pocket, giving him an air of coolness. If he were wearing his black leather jacket and had a cigarette dangling from his lips, he could pass for one of the T-Birds from _Grease_.

Did that basketball hit me harder than I thought? Is he really here waiting on me or am I merely hallucinating?

"Hey," I say, nearly gasping.

Full lips curl up into a lopsided smile. "I thought that I could walk you to your truck. If that's fine with you?"

Warmth begins radiating through my chest - making me feel a little like E.T. the Extraterrestrial with his glowing chest cavity. "Sure," I reply. Like I would ever say no to _that _offer.

Strolling down the sidewalk side-by-side, we don't say very much. He asks if I have started reading any of the books I borrowed yesterday. I tell him yes, and mention that I've made it through the first few chapters. Then it's back to us walking quietly. I steal glances though. A _lot_ of them. How could I not?

We pass around the math building and finally get a good view of the parking lot. Since my truck is larger than most of the small, compact cars here, it's usually the first thing I see. But today the first thing I notice is that someone is standing by my driver's side door.

I stop walking and squint my eyes to get a better look. I soon discern jet black hair slicked back with enough gel to grease my truck's engine.

It's Eric.

He stands there - fidgeting in place - as other students walk by. The black book bag on his back is practically bouncing because of his erratic movement, making it appear as if he skipped a much needed dose of Ritalin.

With the puzzle solved, my legs begin moving again in the direction of my vehicle. "That's weird. I wonder what he wants?" I say more to myself than to Edward.

"I'm guessing that he wants to ask you a question today, too," he replies, his voice light and charismatic.

Suspicious by his tone, I stop concentrating on the person by my truck and examine the face of the boy walking with me. He isn't smiling or anything. Yet, I sense a hint of amusement around him nonetheless. But all he does is shrug his shoulders and continues to stroll along.

We're around fifteen feet away now, close enough for me to talk to the boy waiting by the truck. "Hi, Eric," I say to break the ice.

Eric's mouth forms a faltering smile. "Hi, Bella," he quietly greets.

Edward stops walking and remains near the bumper, one hand slipping into his pocket as he looks on. I walk up to the door, pull out my keys, and turn the lock. It would be nice if I could open the truck door and set my books on the passenger side seat, but Eric is blocking me from being able to do that.

"So, what's up?" I say, backing up a few feet from him.

His dark eyes flick from my face to Edward's, pausing there for several beats before they return to me. "I-uh, want to-" he stutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean... Well-"

"Hey!" shouts a familiar voice from behind me. "What are you doing?"

My head snaps backwards, looking over my shoulder. I spot Tyler stomping in this direction. His normal, goofy grin is nowhere in sight. All I see is a deep frown and glaring eyes.

"I, umm... I was just talking to Bella," answers Eric once Tyler is in close range.

"Yeah, I can see that," Tyler sarcastically responds, his scowl increasing in strength.

I've never seen Tyler angry before. His emotions normally range from dopey happiness to just plain dopey.

"Hi, Tyler?" I say out loud, my forehead scrunched in bewilderment.

But Tyler never so much as takes a peek at me. His full attention stays centered on Eric. "You were going to ask her, _weren't you_?"

Eric's eyes dart down to study the gray concrete of the parking area. "Well..." he trails off.

Tyler's eyes enlarge and his face darkens to a tomato red. "You were!"

Eric straightens his lanky posture and stares back defiantly. "Maybe I was thinking about it, but I didn't."

Tyler huffs out a dry laugh and rolls his eyes. "Only because I stopped you! I thought we made a deal, man! We ask her to the dance and then let _her_ choose which of us she wants to go with."

My mouth forms into a large O shape, gaping in horror. Up until this moment, I wasn't sure what their problem was. I thought they were arguing over something stupid, like maybe they made a bet to see how many miles per gallon my truck gets and needed me to settle it.

But this is more disturbing. They are arguing over _me_.

What's happening is similar to what often occurs after a car wreck along a busy roadway. Passing motorists can't help but slow down their vehicles just so they can stare morbidly at the carnage. And sadly, that's what's happening now.

Students are scattered all around us, watching the show unfold in front of them. Even the people already in their cars have stopped driving and shut off the motors so they won't miss out on the fun.

But what makes this already cringe-worthy event even worse is that Edward has a front row seat to this three ring circus. And he is smiling as though this is the most entertaining thing to ever hit Forks.

_Please, God, open up a hole underneath my feet so I may die out of sight..._

"Well, I didn't really agree to your dumb idea anyway," Eric retorts with narrowed eyes. "Besides, she was about to leave! I couldn't let her go without saying _something_. I can't help it that _you_ were running late."

I realize that if I don't say something soon, somebody will probably call my police chief father to come break up the fight. I should try to intervene before things spiral out of control. There's a saying that goes "the truth will set you free". Hopefully, if I tell them the truth, I can escape this Jerry Springer-esque freak show with a little dignity intact. I can let them down gently by informing them that I'll be in Seattle that day.

"Guys?" I say during a temporary pause in their argument. "Thanks, but I'm sorry to say-"

"You could have stalled her for a minute!" Tyler interrupts without acknowledging me. "You know, friends do that kind of stuff for each other! I guess I was wrong in thinking that you were a _friend_, Yorkie."

With nostrils flared, Eric barks, "Oh! OK. If that's how you wanna be, then I guess it's first come, first serve from now on! I didn't want to ask her with you hanging around anyway."

"Fine by me! But today, since you were about to break our deal, I think it's only fair that_ I_ get to ask her first."

My hands ball into fists and I squeeze them until they hurt. These two idiots are too busy fighting to remember that I'm hearing every single word. I'm not a doe waiting to see which buck wins the battle before she skips off into the sun set with the winner.

"Excuse me! But I won't be in town-"

"No way!" yells Eric with a glower aimed towards Tyler. "That's not fair at all."

Tyler stubbornly folds his arm across his chest and glares back. "Well, there's no way I'm going to agree with letting you ask her first just because you were here before me."

Taking a deep, calming breath of air, I smash my eyelids together and focus on not killing them. Though, I think if I did do that, the jury would have to acquit me. Being subjected to disgrace in front of this many witnesses should be considered a valid excuse for murdering morons.

"_I'm going out of town that da-_" I announce in a louder tone.

"How about a coin toss?" cuts in Eric with puckered mouth.

"Hey!" grins Tyler in a happier mood. "That's a pretty good idea! I think I've gotta quarter in here somewhere..." Then his hand disappears into his baggy pants pocket, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth.

An earsplitting sound cuts through the air like a knife. Edward has two fingers thrust in his mouth, whistling in that way you sometimes see people on the movies do when they want to hail a taxi.

Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumber finally stop with the madness and shut their traps, their heads snapping in Edward's direction.

"Pardon me boys," he begins with a minute smirk. "I _sincerely_ regret to inform the both of you that Miss Swan will be otherwise engaged the day of the spring dance. I'm afraid that you will need to find dance partners elsewhere." He strolls over to me, places a hand on my back, and gently maneuvers me closer to the truck's door. "Now... Would you two please excuse us? We _really_ need to get going now."

Formally vital things like heart beats, breathing, and eye blinking halt. All I can do is gape up at him, completely dumbstruck.

Did he say what I think he said? Does he not understand what he just implied to these two?

Tyler and Eric's eyes flick back and forth from my face to his. Judging by their stunned expressions, I'm going to guess that they heard the very same thing I did.

Without a word, they leave separately and head to their cars. But not Edward. He just stands here as if he has nothing better to do. By degrees, the nosy students who had been watching Eric and Tyler's spectacle wander off too since all of the excitement is over with.

"I can't believe you just did that," I exhale.

"Did what?" Edward asks in a breezy tone.

I stare up at him skeptically. He's a smart guy. He should know that what he just said in front of them will be examined and misinterpreted. By tomorrow, every man, woman, and child will assume that he and I have some grand love affair brewing.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Edward," I hiss under my breath.

His green eyes widen innocently. "I was merely explaining to them that you would be busy that day."

My eyes roll into the back of my head. _Yeah_. Thanks a lot for the help. Now, not only will I have to explain to hundreds of curious kids that I will not be going to the dance, but I will also have to inform them that he and I are nothing more than good friends. That's going to be _loads_ of fun...

"I could have handled it, you know. I'm not helpless," I respond with a rough sigh.

"No one said that you were. I certainly don't think of you as helpless. But they were being rude and ignoring you. I couldn't stand seeing them treat you that way."

My irritation slowly fizzles away. I guess he really was trying to help me. He just doesn't appear to grasp the situation we are in now thanks to his careless words.

"Fine. I guess I can understand that. But do you realize what you just did?" Filling with equal doses of anxiety and embarrassment over what I have to explain to him causes me to draw my bottom lip into my mouth. "You made it sound as if you and I are..._together_."

Edward's head cocks to the side, his brows drawing together. "_Really_?" he says in a disbelieving way.

My face falls at his naïveté, anxiety and frustration building up by the second inside of me. "Yes! _Really_. _You know_ how people are around here. Tyler and Eric won't be able to keep their mouths shut. By tomorrow, every person here will be thinking that."

Stroking his chiseled jaw, he appears to analyze this distressing information. Roughly ten seconds pass before he has anything to say about it.

"You are absolutely correct. It was wrong of me to speak for you like that," he begins solemnly. "I should have stood back and allowed _you_ to handle them. Would you like for me to go track them down and bring them back to you? I'm sure that they would still be interested in escorting you to the dance. Tell me, which eligible bachelor would you prefer?" Although there's no smile on his face, his eyes are dancing in unmistakable amusement.

Sensing that I am _this_ close to slapping him for cracking jokes at my expense, I shoot him a dirty look, yank my truck's door open, and crawl inside. I then place both hands upon the steering wheel so I won't be tempted to hit him before I give a proper response.

"Shut up, Edward," I grumble.

One crisp, beautiful laugh erupts from his lips. Moving closer to the opened cab of the truck, his manner quickly reverts back to calm soberness. "Duly noted. However, before I shut up completely, may I say just one more thing?"

At first I plan to say "hell no". It's likely going to be a hilarious joke about idiots who have to work together as a team before they feel up to asking me out.

But then I grow to accept that most people probably enjoyed hearing them make fools of themselves. If it had happened to someone else, I would probably be laughing and making jokes too. I'll give Edward one more opportunity to tease me about it. But, if he tries to do it anymore after this, then I _will_ slap him.

"Go ahead," I nod passively.

His hands grip the truck's roof and he leans into the cab, his eyes becoming soft again like they did earlier today. "I just wanted to say that if Tyler and Eric were to tell every soul at this school that you and I are together, I would not be offended." A small but breathtaking smile appears next, and his voice becomes light. "In fact, it sounds rather tempting to tell you the truth."

Before this moment, I was unaware of how powerful words can be. Because the words Edward has used just now has rendered me dumb.

My body goes limp. My hands fall from their position on the steering wheel and drop to the seat. I forget who I am, where I am, and what I should be doing.

Like an Etch A Sketch being wiped clean, his smile vanishes and his face goes back to its normal expression. "So...I was thinking that we should study for that Biology test first today before we go over anything else. What do you think?"

I gape back wordlessly, too astonished to respond. I know he's saying something, but I'm finding it hard to process it. He said something about Biology, I think. I don't want to keep him waiting forever, so I gradually nod my head in hopes that I am doing the right thing.

One corner of his mouth lifts up ever so slightly. "Great. I'll meet you at your place in five minutes."

These words kindly penetrate my mental fog and I repeat them in my head a few times so I won't forget.

_Edward. House. Five minutes._

Meanwhile, he steps back and shuts my door for me. He taps on it once, grabs his books from the truck bed, and starts strutting to his Volvo parked a few rows away. As though under a spell, my eyes stay transfixed and follow him in the rearview mirror.

In one abrupt movement, he turns his head and looks back. One hand raises into the air, giving me a cheerful wave before resuming his trek across the parking lot.

Coming back to life, my eyes flutter as if I have been staring at a bright light, and I turn the keys in the ignition. The sound of my truck rumbling like a jackhammer helps to distract me from what just went down, and I drive out of the parking area.

As I head down the street, my mind wanders back to the events of today. Has everyone gone crazy? Jessica certainly fits that label based on her erratic behavior. But I think I'm more concerned about the boys.

My truck comes upon a red Stop sign and I put on my brakes, continuing to mull things over. Three boys tried to ask me to attend a dance that I would never go to, and the fourth proposed a long road trip and said things that he has never even hinted at before.

Are they all right? Did they all eat something spoiled in the cafeteria and some harmful bacteria is eating through their brain matter, making them all say and do things that they wouldn't do ordinarily? And did Edward get a more severe case of food poisoning? Maybe that's why he can easily go from saying that he doesn't mind the rumors that are inevitably being spread around about us to more mundane topics, like talking about doing our homework. Normal boys don't do that. I think...

_Honk_!

My eyes dart to my mirror. I see a shiny, silver Volvo waiting behind me, its driver staring at the back of my head with an arched eyebrow and teasing, lopsided smirk.

I immediately stomp on the accelerator and drive off before I stare vacantly into my rearview mirror for any longer. He follows a dozen or so feet behind me as we navigate through town.

My mouth forms a sullen frown. I can't even drive home today without making an ass of myself in front of him. How will my pride survive having him in my kitchen if I can't even look at him without becoming a vegetable?

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N - My pleading lead some of you to feel sorry enough to leave a review. I won't beg this time. Instead, I'm just going to say thank you. ;-)**

**Next Chapter \- Bella doesn't know what to think about Edward, so she receives some unsolicited advice. News of what he said during the parking lot incident spreads like wildfire. ****And Edward doesn't seem to worry about it at all. Boys! smh**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	15. The Rumor

**Chapter 15- The Rumor**

**March 2, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

"Bacteria and fungi break down dead organisms by releasing _what_ into the matter?"

Edward sits across the table from me and reads aloud from our Biology study guide, quizing me in preparation for our upcoming test. He leans back in his chair and holds the paper upright with his fingers. His manner is the epitome of unflappable relaxation.

"Enzymes," I mumble back without making direct eye contact. It's not that I don't want to look at him, because I do. I really, _really_ do. But this is a matter of self-preservation. If I were to risk a peek, he might dazzle me to such an extent that I can no longer speak. _Again_. And that definitely wouldn't make things any better for me.

It's been like this ever since we got to my house after school. I sit here nervously wringing my hands and try to answer the school related questions he tosses out. Meanwhile, he talks about strategies to improve our grades. He speaks of the project Mr. Banner will soon assign that he isn't looking forward to doing. But he makes absolutely no mention at all of the events that played out in the school parking lot today.

How can he just sit there like nothing unusual happened? How can he stand asking me questions about bacteria and fungi when there are far more important things we could discuss? Like the fact that our names are probably being linked together in the Forks High gossip chain. I hate to even contemplate on how stressful tomorrow will be when I have to deal with a bunch of nosy kids that have everything wrong.

And what kind of a guy says those things to the girl he has only ever referred to as a friend and then doesn't even have the decency to elaborate? Is there something wrong with him? I guess it's possible that he really does have a multiple personality disorder. Maybe his two personalities have absolutely no idea what the other one is up to.

The side of himself that he usually displays is friendly but subdued. The Edward that I know doesn't intentionally try to draw attention to himself in public. And he would _never_ say anything that could be taken the wrong way.

Yet, the other side of him that he occasionally shows is what worries me the most. _This_ Edward smiles at you charmingly, aims a wink that leaves you on the brink of having a stroke, and declares that he wouldn't mind there being rumors about the two of you being a couple.

And once he has your head spinning from all of this, he then appears to forget about everything he said or did. He goes right back to being the polite, reserved boy you've gotten to know in the past few weeks.

"And this process is called?" Edward says encouragingly.

"Decomposition."

Unable to go without looking at him any longer, my eyes shift to his face. My plan is to take a quick glance before he notices. But when I find his face, I discover that he is already watching me. His mossy green irises are bright and beautiful. To add to my delirium, he flashes a small smile that raises the temperature of the room by a few degrees. Having hot flashes at seventeen can't be good.

"Correct. But let's see if you can answer _this,_" he emphasizes while turning the page. Then he delves into much tougher Bio questions to test me on.

Learning my lesson, I keep my eyes locked on the '70s era painting of sunflowers that hangs on the wall behind Edward. I don't look at the artwork because I like it. To be honest, it's downright tacky. Some grateful citizen of Forks gifted it to Charlie years ago. He dislikes it just as much as I do. But now he's too worried about offending the person who gave it to him to get rid of it. However, it does serve me well now. Concentrating on something so ugly helps to dispel the effect of having Edward in the same room with me.

Later, once we've finished with the Biology notes, we work independently on our other homework assignments. This makes it much easier for me to spy on him without getting caught. I watch his body language, searching for signs of what's going on inside that handsome head of his. But I can't deduce a thing. He reads from his Spanish book and fills out the accompanying worksheet without appearing troubled, nervous, or anything.

How come his hands aren't shaking like mine are doing under the table? Why am _I_ the only one that can barely function? That's not fair.

If I had a courageous soul, I would confront him. I would press for answers until I felt satisfied that I was given the whole story. I'd ask him if he was serious about what he said to me today, or has he merely found something fun to do in Forks by playing mind games on the new girl. Or maybe he regrets saying those things and that's why he hasn't brought it up again. That's possible.

But I can't ask. I'm too chicken. If it _is_ a mind game, prank, or something similarly devastating, I don't want to know quite yet. A part of me wants to hold on to the fantasy that he cares for me a little too.

Being a pathetic, confused, lovesick girl really _sucks_.

While I am struggling to make sense of everything, Edward's right hand abruptly disappears underneath the kitchen table and he pulls out his gold pocket watch. He still keeps it well hidden at school. I've noticed that this kitchen is the only place he will ever openly pull his watch out. The fact that he feels comfortable enough to do that around me makes me happier than it probably should.

With his thumb, he flips open the watch case and glances at its face. "It's almost six. I suppose it's time for me to go," he sighs as he stuffs it back into his pocket.

I attempt to hide my disappointment that he has to leave. I may not be able to look at him right now without blushing, but that doesn't stop me from wanting him to stay longer. I must be a masochist at heart.

My body wilts in my chair until my shoulders droop. "Um. Yeah. OK. I guess your family must be waiting for you to show up for dinner."

He pauses in his task of gathering his things and his eyes lock on mine, drawing me in like a U.F.O.'s tractor beam on its helpless abductee. This only serves to make my already blushing cheeks flame redder than before.

_Stupid boy with his trance-inducing eyes that leave me in a delirious mess..._

"Oh, I doubt I'm keeping them. I'm sure they have already eaten," Edward says with a smirk. "Besides, they like to keep things casual around there. I'm the only one that prefers to stick with a schedule."

The phone starts ringing behind me, freeing me from his gaze. I push my chair back and make my way across the room to answer it. Hopefully, he won't notice how wobbly I am as I walk.

As my fingers wrap around the telephone receiver and I lift it to my ear, I see that Edward is now standing by the kitchen door with his books tucked at his side.

"Well, I'm off," he announces. "I hope that you have a lovely evening." And then, as if he has a remote in his pocket that controls his facial expressions, his eyes go from their _smolder_ setting to _stun_.

I swallow and clear my throat, probably sounding like a four-packs-a-day chain smoker. "Yeah. You too, Edward."

He leaves the room with a lopsided smile, leaving me heaving in his wake. The only bright side is that now that he's gone, I can let loose and allow my face to blush as much I want.

Suddenly recalling that I have a phone in my hand, I suck in a breath and slowly release it before I deal with the caller. Hopefully, it's a telemarketer trying to sell me a magazine subscription or something. That should help distract me for a little while.

"Hello," I say in a remarkably calm tone.

_"Isabella Marie, do you have a __**boy**__ there with you?"_

The voice I hear drains my face of color. All signs that I was blushing moments before have been wiped clean. I'm not prepared to deal with this right now...

"Uh. No?"

_"But, honey, I __**heard**__ him_," my mom insists from three thousand miles away.

"Well...I'm alone _now_."

I hear a quick intake of breath on the line. "_So you admit it then? You had a __**boy**__ with you?" _she stresses, her voice rising excitedly.

I heave a sigh of frustration. This is exactly why I haven't informed her about the studying arrangement Edward and I set up. She won't understand. She has a tendency to jump to conclusions. If I had told her, she would have assumed that just because her daughter has a male friend that drops by five days a week that it must mean that something more is going on between them.

I guess it's possible that something _is_ going on now_._ But how can I answer her inevitable questions when I have no idea what's going on myself?

"Yes. There _was_ a boy here. But he's gone now, Mom."

Anticipating her reaction, I hold the phone away from my ear. A giddy, high-pitch squeal that even Mariah Carey would likely have trouble hitting comes from my mom's end.

_"Finally!"_ shrieks Mom._ "I was beginning to think that this day would never come! So why didn't you tell me you were dating, sweetie? How long has this been going on?"_

"You're getting way ahead of yourself. We're not dating."

A few seconds of silence pass. "_Then what was he doing there with you?"_

Nervous by the question, I begin wrapping the phone cord around my index finger. "Studying. We, um, were doing our homework together."

"_Oh_," she replies, all excitement in her voice gone. More seconds tick by where she doesn't make a sound - which is unusual for her. Then she asks, "_What did you say his name was?"_

"Edward."

_"Edward?"_ she repeats in a strange tone. "_As in the boy that pulled you out of the path of a runaway van, Edward?"_

My head jerks back, startled by her question. "Mom, how did you know that? I mentioned him _once_ to you and you somehow remember his _name_? You can't even remember your own dentist - and you've seen her every six months for the past ten years."

My mom isn't known for having a very good memory. The only way she remembers to buy me a birthday present is if she writes it on her calendar. After the gift is bought, she will promptly forget that it is supposed to be a surprise and she will show me what she found. I'm the only person I know that receives her birthday gift around two weeks before her actually birthday.

_"That's not true_," she claims._ "I remember Dr. Quack just fine. She's one of the nicest people I've ever met."_

"Her name's Dr. Cammack, Mom."

_"Oh. Well, I remembered the important things about her. And I was close, wasn't I?"_

"Close enough."

_"We're getting off track, baby. Answer my question. Is it the same boy?"_

"Yes," I confess with a sigh.

_"And you two were doing homework?"_

"That's right."

"_Why? Is there a group project you have to work on together?"_

"Not exactly," I draw out hesitantly.

_"Then why was he there?"_

"He...helps me in math sometimes."

_"Helps you? You've never needed help with your homework before."_

My eyes clamp shut in a wince. Why does Mom have to be so perceptive all of the sudden?

"I discovered that I work better with a partner. He's been helping me bring up my Trigonometry grades."

_"And Charlie knows about this?"_

"Yeah."

After a short break, she says, "_How often does this boy come by?"_

"Uh... Every week day?" I anxiously reply as though it is a question.

Mom immediately bursts out into giggles_. "Bella!"_ she gasps between fits of laughter. "_Now I __**know**__ you're not telling me everything!"_

"What do you mean?" I mutter while biting down on my lip.

_"Honey, I may be old but I was a teenager once too. And from what I remember, the only way you can get away with having a boy at your house that often is if you tell your parents that you're only __**'**__studying__**'**__ with him. I 'studied' a lot back then - even during the summer months when school was out,"_ she finishes in a belly laugh.

This causes me let out a muted groan. I'm not a big fan of hearing about her love life. She tends to over share. I have to pointedly remind her that I am her daughter and shouldn't even know about her former boyfriend's habit of crying in the midst of their love making. And after what Eric and Tyler put me through today, this additional embarrassment is almost too much to bear. My only consolation is that she didn't go into the details of her high school conquests. Especially the one with - _shudder_ \- my father.

"But I'm telling you the truth," I assert over her laughter. "All we do is work on our homework. And then he goes back home."

Her giggles slack off gradually until she regains control of herself. _"OK. I'll believe you only on one condition - you have to come clean with me. What's going on that you __**haven't**__ told me?"_

It ordinarily goes against my self-made religion to share my troubles with others. I prefer to suffer in silence and hide all of my problems from prying eyes. But I'm desperate right now. And it would take too long for Dear Abby to answer my anonymous letter. Mom is my only hope.

The finger being strangled by the phone cord is now so tight that it stings. "What if I don't know what's going on either?" I ask in a pitifully weak voice.

_"Well, you can tell me what you __**do**__ know and we'll figure it out together,"_ replies Mom cheerfully.

"And you won't share this with Dad?" Having Mom know about this is all I can handle at the moment.

_"I won't, baby. I promise."_

I let out a slow breath to appease my nerves before I speak. "Edward and I are friends. And up until this afternoon, I knew that was all there was to it on his end. But now... I'm not so sure."

_"Why? What happened?"_

"Because-"

I immediately cut myself off, realizing that I nearly forgot something very important to my future well-being. "Mom, what I am about to tell you is _super_ embarrassing and you have to _swear_ to me that after this conversation, you will _never_ bring it up again."

"_Ooh! This must be really good then!"_

"Mom!" I hiss into the phone.

_"Fine! I swear I won't ever mention it to you after today. Now, spill!"_

After taking a glance around to ensure that Charlie hasn't sneaked into the room undetected, I decide to treat this as I would if I were to pull off a Bandaid - namely, to get this painful story over with as quickly as possible.

I take a large gulp of air and say everything in one breath.

"I had two boys today almost ask me to a dance but they wouldn't listen to me when I tried to tell them 'no' so Edward intervened and said I already had plans for that day and then put his hand on my back and dismissed them by saying, '_Excuse me. We really need to get going now.' _And now I don't know what to think."

With my story complete, I'm gasping for fresh oxygen and feeling a little dizzy. I have to pull a chair over and collapse onto its seat.

_"You had two boys ask you out at once?_" Mom questions, almost sounding impressed.

"Technically they never got that far. They were too busy arguing back and forth to get around to the asking part," I reveal dryly.

_"So what are you confused about?"_

"_Everything_. Those boys were acting really weird. They seemed fine yesterday. Then overnight they changed. It's like they turned into different people! Who argues over who gets to ask a girl to a dance first? It's crazy!"

_"Bella, honey. Don't get frustrated. This is normal behavior for kids your age. The boys are just going through a bit of Spring Fever."_

My mouth turns down into a frown. "What now?"

_"Haven't you heard of this before? As much as you read I thought you already knew about this_," she mumbles ruminatively. "Anyway, e_very spring when the temperature starts to rise, the boys' testosterone levels rise too. They get the urge to look for girls to date, and sometimes they all want the same one. So they'll fuss, fight, and flex their muscles to impress the girl and try to make the other boys back off. It's really just too adorable for words."_

I arch my brow dubiously. "Mom, today's high in Forks was forty-nine degrees and we were blanketed with clouds. It definitely doesn't feel like spring here."

"_That doesn't matter. Look on your calendar. It's March. To them, __**that's**__ spring."_

"OK. Maybe you're right. But what about Edward? Even _he_ changed. He's always nice to me, but it's been a _friendly_ kind of nice. But today it changed to a...different kind of nice. He smiled and - _uhh_ \- winked at me a lot more than usual. Almost like he was..." I trail my story off here, unable to say the words I want to say out loud.

Mom may not know how to cook. She may not be able to remember to get her car's oil changed as often as it should. But she knows a thing or two about _this_ subject. She has no problem furnishing the words that I can't say.

"_Flirting with you?"_

"Um-hmm."

_"You like him, don't you?"_

It's a bit more than _like_ at this point, but I go with it for the sake of simplicity. "Yes."

_"So what's the problem?"_

"The problem is I don't know what's going on with him now. He said some things earlier today that made me think that he - _umm_ \- likes me too. But then he went back to being just his nice, normal self. For two hours he sat across the kitchen table from me and never even hinted at what he said to me earlier. It was as if it had never happened! So now I don't know _what_ to think," I finish in a huff of exasperation.

_"Hmm. You know what it sounds like to me? I watched a movie the other night on Lifetime about a man who does that very same thing to the thirty-something year old widow who lived next door. I really wish you could have seen it! It was so good! That dead husband of hers was the __**biggest**__ jerk to ever walk the earth but she was too naïve to see it. Every weekend while she was caring for their children, he was off fooling around with that skanky secretary of his. I swear, I've never wanted to slap someone so much in my life! Then, while the jerk and his tramp were driving to some seedy motel, his car went off the road and flew off a cliff._

_"I can't say I felt sorry for him, but I __**was**__ worried about how his wife Cynthia would take it. And just as I thought, she was devastated by his death __**and**__ when she was told of the months of cheating on his part. But to tell you the truth, I don't know what she saw in him in the first place. He was the snootiest little snot rag she could have found! Can you believe that he wouldn't touch fast food because he thought it was beneath him? Isn't that just plain nuts? Just the other day I saw a picture of Matt Damon eating at Jack In The Box. And if that's good enough for Matt, then I'd say it should be good enough for a lying scumbag too, ya know? And don't __**even**__ get me started on that woman he was cheating with! She-"_

"Mom," I interrupt with a small moan. "I think you're getting off topic."

"_Oops! I'm sorry, baby. So, since the wife had suffered so much by that no-good husband of hers, she was afraid of being hurt again. So, she rejected every single man that tried to get too close to her in order to protect herself. Years later, a new neighbor moved in next door to her. I can't think of his name in real life, but it's that guy that used to play Superman. But, anyway, by the end of the movie, that Superman guy was living in her house and building pillow forts with her kids. They had such a cute happily ever after."_

Mom ends her summary with a delighted sigh. There's nothing in this world that makes this woman happier than lame made-for-TV movies.

"Mom? What do cheating husband's and the guy from Superman have to do with me?"

"_Didn't I tell you how he gained her trust?"_

"No."

_"Oh... I must have forgotten that part," _she mutters absentmindedly. _"The_ _Superman guy used a different tactic than those other bozos that were going after her. He kept things friendly and took things slow so she wouldn't be scared off. Eventually, she grew to trust him and opened up her heart. So maybe this Edward is doing something similar. He's just going slow right now."_

I can't believe my mom just gave me advice that she dug up from a B movie. And I also can't believe that her advice is actually helpful. The _Lifetime_ network must have improved their scripts since I last watched their channel.

"I guess that is possible," I admit.

_"Oh, good! Then I __**did**__ help you. Now let me ask you a question. What does he look like? Is he cute?"_

"He's...nice looking."

_"Is that all I get?_ _Honey! I'm on the other side of the country from you and can't see him for myself. Can't you give me some details?"_

I'm not comfortable enough to share the specifics of his appearance. If I were to confess that he looks like literally god's gift to womankind, she might pick up on my unhealthy obsession sooner.

"Uh, he's tall. Well...not too tall, but just... _kind of_ tall. He has - umm - good eyes? So, no glasses for him. He - uh - has nice hair. And, err...yeah. That's about it."

Nothing but her breathing comes from the phone's speaker for five seconds.

_"I want a picture," _she demands.

My eyes roll to the ceiling. "No."

_"Why not? Since you can't give me a sense of what he looks like, you can at least send me his picture."_

"I don't have one to send."

_"That's all right. I'll send some money, you can buy a camera, and then take a few pictures of him. It doesn't have to be fancy. A decent head and body shot will do. Send me a couple and you can keep the rest."_

"Don't you think he would find it weird that I want to take pictures of him?"

_"No, because you can tell him that I asked you to do it."_

"That makes it a _thousand_ per cent weirder, Mom."

_"Then I want to meet him. Soon."_

"Why would you want to meet him already? I don't even know if there's anything to what I told you. Maybe he's like that around everyone and I just never noticed before."

"_Bella, boys don't usually go to a girl's house to do their homework almost every day unless there is a reason. Is he failing one of his subjects or getting paid to tutor you?"_

"No."

_"Then, trust me, he likes you." She pauses, then says, "When I was a couple of years younger than you are now, I met a boy named Fernando that reminds me a little of your Edward. Fernando was so cute and sweet to me. His only fault was that he was shy. He would barely talk. But once I got him alone, he showed me how well he could control his tongue - if you know what I mean. He was talented for a boy of his age but- Oh, honey, I'm sorry but I have to go! Phil's taking me out to dinner and dancing! He's saying that if we don't leave in the next fifteen minutes, we'll be late for our reservation."_

I've never felt more grateful to my stepfather for interrupting her awkward reminiscing.

"OK. Tell Phil said 'hi'."

_"I will. I love you."_

"I love you, too."

_"Bye, baby_," she says into the phone. Then, right before she hangs up, I hear her yell, "_Phil! You'll never guess what happened! Bella has a crush and has all sorts of boys interested-"_

When I hear the click of her hanging up, I stare at the phone in my hand and frown. I asked her not to tell Charlie, and I think she will honor that. But I forgot to think of Phil, her friends, the minor league baseball players' wives, hotel staff, and random strangers she meets on the street.

At least Forks is too far away from Florida for that gossip to ever reach us.

**00000000000000000000**

During the night, I have a nice break from my anxiety and confusion. The Edward that stars in my dreams is straightforward. Dream Edward lets me know _exactly_ what is on his mind. He pulls me close and whispers sweet words into my ear that I would give anything to remember. That's the downside to having him only available during sleeping hours - I can never recall the details.

When morning dawns, I take it easy as I drive to school. My truck prefers going thirty mph or less anyway. However, the main reason I'm in no hurry is because I'm scared of what today has in store for me. Scared out of my mind, actually. Will Eric and Tyler do something else to humiliate me? Has everyone heard about what they did? And which Edward will I see today? Will he say more things to mess with my mind? Or, will he be back to his old self?

Despite the fact that there isn't much time left before school is set to start, there are plenty of parking spaces available. That's the nice thing about this school - there are almost more parking spaces than enrolled students. So, I direct my sights on the spot by the medium-sized oak tree located near the front.

I'm almost there when I catch sight of Edward sitting on the hood of his car, absorbedly observing me.

If the Volvo company knew of his existence, they would probably pay him to just lean against their automobiles. No doubt he would help sell thousands. His long, lean legs are spread out in front of him, one crossed on top of the other. And, heaven help me, he's wearing an unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt over a t-shirt that's almost snug enough to cut off his circulation.

_Help. Somebody bring me a _defibrillator_. This is an emergency._

I can barely pull into my parking space without ramming into the Ford Focus next to me. All of my books, folders, and notebooks slide off the passenger seat and onto the floor. How could Edward be so careless? Doesn't he know by now that he is a distraction? The boy looks like he's doing a Hunks Of The Olympic Peninsula Calendar shoot. I'm sure this isn't the first time that some girl almost crashed because she was too busy leering at him.

Once the truck's engine is shut off, I push open the door and grab my school things from where they fell. After I lay my hand on the last notebook, I hear the crunch of gravel behind me. I know the sound of footsteps when I hear it.

I whip around to find Edward standing a couple of paces away. I examine his face briefly, hoping to see something there that will tell me which personality I will be interacting with this morning. Since his isn't winking or anything, I'm guessing this is Normal Edward.

"Hey, um, Edward. What's up?"

"Just coming to wish you a good morning," he replies agreeably.

"Oh," I utter softly. Never has he come to say good morning to me before - unless you count the day Tyler almost mowed us down. And I don't. Edward only came over to me back then because I was slipping and sliding all around on the icy concrete. I looked so ridiculous. He probably thought I had banana peels attached to my feet.

My mouth lifts into a smile, warmed by the fact he wanted to talk to me. "Well, thanks."

"You're welcome. Sleep well?"

My cheeks instantly heat up. Memories from only a few hours ago come forefront. _Great_. Now all I can think about is if Real Edward is as talented a kisser as his Dream version.

I have it hard enough trying to concentrate...

I swivel my body around to hide my blush from him on the pretense of needing to shut my truck's door. "Fine," I blurt out.

Once I rotate back around and get the nerve to meet his gaze again, he bows his head graciously. "That's good."

I cough nervously and strain my brain to find something to remove the spotlight from me. I soon decide to keep it simple by asking him the same question. "And you?"

Edward's lips curve up a little at their corners, his eyes giving off a new shine. "It was pleasant."

My head moves up and down while I try to interpret what _that_ odd reaction means. As with nearly everything when it comes to him, it is just another mystery to add to my growing list.

Suddenly recalling that classes will soon begin, my feet move towards the school. Edward keeps pace beside me. Neither one of us say a word. There's a strange atmosphere that I can't shake off. My nerves feel like they're being shocked with volts of electricity. It isn't until we're at the halfway mark do I realize why I am on edge.

Every soul currently within gawking distance is staring at Edward and me.

They don't even try to hide it. In decent society, you peek at the people you're whispering about so they won't know what you are up to. But that's not how it works in Forks. Staring open-mouthed at whomever you are gossiping about is common practice. A sophomore boy has his jaw dangling open so wide that he'll probably need to go to the E.R. in order to get it reattached. I see a group of senior girls giggling back and forth, their eyes trained on us as we walk by. Even the emo kid that told me when I first moved here that he hates the lack of privacy in this small town is over there by the bike rack, unashamedly monitoring us and chatting to his equally emo friend.

I try to tell myself that this is only a nightmare. I am asleep and Dream Edward will do something to save us. Like maybe casting a dazzling smile that will blind everyone in the vicinity so that we can escape. He's good at that.

"Edward?" I say in a low voice while my eyes frantically dart around.

"Yes?"

"Everybody is staring at us."

He slows down and leisurely scans the area. Crowds of loitering kids stare right back at him. "They are, aren't they?" he says in a much too peaceful lilt.

Well, I guess that proves it. This isn't a dream and this isn't Dream Edward. This is really happening. And all I have to combat the hordes of nosy teens is a Smart-ass Edward that doesn't seem to care that we're being talked about.

With wide-eyes, I stop in my tracks and block his path. "I told you this would happen! Now what are we going to do?"

His thumb and forefinger go to rub his jaw while his eyes squint musingly down at me. After a few beats of deep thought, he offers up a response. "Go to class?"

I stare back at him with an unsmiling face, irritated that he can joke around at a time like this. "Ha. Ha," I reply sarcastically.

I take another glimpse at our audience, noting that no one has moved a muscle. It's as if they don't care that school is about to begin. They're too invested in watching an ordinary girl and a gorgeous boy walk around than to worry about anything else.

And that's another thing that troubles me. _What are they saying? _Has word of my lack of dating experience gotten out and they're making fun of me? Is everyone comparing me to him? Are those girls over there laughing because they think I'm too plain to be near someone this good looking?

I let out a large puff of air, already exhausted by the perceived scrutiny. And I still have an entire school day to get through before I can get out of here.

My face lifts up until I meet his eyes. "I mean it, Edward. I hate being the center of attention."

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly. "Just ignore them."

I laugh a little at that advice as we head to class. "That's easy for you to say. I'm not sure that I can be as indifferent to all this staring as you can."

I guess if you're a guy like him, being stared at is an everyday occurrence and no big whoop. But for me, that's not going to work. People only stare at me if there is something wrong - like maybe I have a three foot long trail of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Or, if I accidentally tucked my shirt into my panties and now everyone knows that I own a pair that features teddy bears cuddling with little hearts. I've had quite a few traumatizing bathroom experiences.

"At least you're not alone in this. I'll be scrutinized just as much as you today," he reminds me.

With my English class within sight, I stop walking and whirl around in order to look him in the eye. "Exactly! _Everyone_ will be asking us questions."

"Perhaps. Though, it really doesn't matter because they will just assume whatever they want to think anyway."

"_I know._ That's why I think we should decide _now_ on how we should go about handling this."

His bronze head cocks to the side. Soon, he slowly nods in agreement. "You have a point. So in that frame of mind, may I make a suggestion?"

Oh thank the heavens. He has a _suggestion _that could save us. Maybe this _is_ Dream Edward after all...

"Sure."

"I think that you and I should sit with my family today at lunch."

I blink back at him, wondering what could make him believe that doing something as simple as trading lunch tables could possibly help us. How is sitting with the Cullens going to resolve our problems? The only people that are stared at more than Edward or me is his family. They're so beautiful that they could be mistaken for angels on earth. It's almost impossible not to want to give them a look or two.

"Why?" I ask with brewing suspicion.

"Multiple reasons," he explains breezily. "First of all, my family doesn't care about petty gossip, so you would be able to relax and eat in peace. Then, there's my sister. She was begging me just this morning to convince you to sit with us today. And, she can be quite annoying when she doesn't get her way."

I hug my things closer to my chest. My fingers drum against my English textbook as another thought occurs to me. "That's only two reasons."

One bronzed brow cocks up. "Oh? Well, I was saving the best for last. Since we seem to be the focus of everyone's interest, _and_ since I'll be sitting wherever you choose to be anyway, I think we may as well give them what they want."

My fidgeting fingers come to a screeching halt and my eyes zero in on him, struck by how he can so casually toss out something like that. But I force myself to not assume anything.

"And what would that be?" I ask as calmly as possible.

An uneven smile graces his lips. "A good show. Just imagine what they will say if they see the two of us sitting with my family. There will be speculations galore. I'm anxious to see what they can come up with."

"I'm not sure if that's a good reason, Edward. That will just lead to more questions. What am I supposed to say when they ask me what's going on?"

"You can tell them the truth."

My body tenses and I squeeze my books until they dig into my chest. "The truth?" I echo uncertainly.

This is dangerous ground for me to tread. His truth and mine may be a tad bit different. The truth for me is that I wouldn't mind experiencing a little of Dream Edward during daylight hours. _His_ truth may be that he has become attached to me because I'm like the mousy kid sister he never had growing up that he loves to tease.

I chance a look up at him. He may not be the Edward I visit in my dreams, but he is a relatively understanding person. Whenever I have asked him a question, he has always given me an answer. And considering everything he has said in the last twenty-four hours that has rocked my world, I deserve a chance to get some decent answers about this too.

My lungs inhale the chilled morning air and I hold it in for a few seconds, gathering the mental strength to do what I should have done yesterday.

"And what if I'm not sure what the _truth_ really is?"

His head pivots to its side a couple of degrees. Dark brows pull together and his eyes briefly flick down to the sidewalk. "I thought that I made my intentions clear to you yesterday," he replies in a contemplative, silky-smooth timbre.

My heart begins pumping so roughly that I think I can hear it in my ears as well as feel it pulsing through my veins. I never realized how seductive the word _intentions_ could be.

Edward refocuses on my face, his eyes projecting their vulnerability. "It's simple. The _truth_ can be whatever you want it to be, Bella. It's entirely up to you how you want it to play out."

By force of habit whenever I am faced with a decision, I pull my bottom lip under my teeth. I guess Mom's theory about him wasn't too far off the mark after all. If what I am hearing isn't a figment of my overactive imagination, he is saying that he is leaving it up to me. We can remain friends. Or, we can be more.

I want more.

"Are you sure your family won't mind?" I question nervously while I remove a strand of windblown hair from my face.

He answers with an easy-going smile. "Absolutely. They will be thrilled. Well...except for maybe Rosalie. But, don't worry about her too much. She's just naturally unwelcoming."

I glance around and notice that most of the kids have disappeared from the sidewalks. The school bell must be about to ring.

"OK. See you later then." I turn and take a few steps towards my first period class. However, once I reach its door, another thought strikes thanks to what I see waiting inside for me. There is a roomful of teenage faces - most of them staring at me.

Highly alarmed, I glance back over my shoulder and breathe a sigh of relief. I see that Edward hasn't left yet, so I return to the spot I just vacated. "You didn't tell me what you are going to say when people start asking you questions," I remind him in a voice low enough that only he can hear.

Another beaming, cocky smile creeps back onto his face. "I'm going to tell them that it's none of their business."

It's official. I love this boy.

"That's the best idea you've had so far," I smile back.

With the bell set to ring at any moment, he bids me a goodbye and jogs off to his U.S. Government class. I hold my head high, direct my sights on my own class, and walk inside as confidently as I can. I've heard it said that dangerous, wild animals can sense fear and will attack if they sense weakness. And since around 70% of the students in my English class are currently eyeing me like hungry hyenas on the African savannah, that nifty bit of trivia sure is coming in handy.

I make it to my desk without being interrogated. It's more difficult to tune out the gossip and the sound of my name being whispered aloud from across the room, but I think I'm taking their intense scrutiny better than expected. I'm too busy reliving what Edward just said to pay them much mind.

Mike sits to my left with his nose buried deep in our English textbook, appearing to read the foreword as though it is the most intriguing thing he has ever read. I expect for him to say "hi" or tell me about something that happened at Newton's Olympic Outfitters, but he doesn't utter a peep.

It's unusual for him to ignore me. Either he is still sore at me for not taking him up on his offer to go to the school dance, or he has heard the rumor about Edward and me and he's pissed off. Maybe it's a little of both.

Surprisingly, no one bothers me in the minute or so before class begins either. After the bell sounds, Mr. Mason takes control of his students and all eyes stay glued on him for the next hour. It isn't until the end of class when I'm walking to second period does anyone attempt to corner me. A brave representative from the marching band joins me and asks how I can make out with Edward without getting a neck cramp since he is so much taller than I am. I kind of wish that I could tell her that I've invested in a neck brace for that eventuality. But I don't. Instead, I give her a fake smile and say that I can't comment on anything right now.

When third period Trig comes around, I'm more jittery. _Jessica_ will be there. Well, she will be unless her parents pulled her out of school and sent her off to see a shrink due to her unstable mood swings from yesterday. But this juicy morsel of gossip might be just what she needs to bring her out of that dark place. And extracting interesting and scandalous information so that she may spread it around for everyone to enjoy is her specialty.

When I come upon the math building, I give a cautious peek into the room. A few students are staring at me but Jessica is off by herself. She sits in her chair, busily writing in her cotton-candy pink notebook. I take a seat beside her and watch for signs of mental disturbance or bouncing curiosity. I see neither.

She must have heard me moving around because her curly head pops up nanoseconds later. A normal looking grin spreads across her face. "Hi, Bella! You're never gonna guess what happened to me yesterday afternoon!"

My mouth opens to question her, but she immediately launches into an answer before I can utter a single syllable.

"When I was leaving my last class of the day, Mike found me and said that he wants to take me to the girls' choice dance!"

With a growing smile, I say, "That's great."

She giggles and scoots her chair closer to me. "I know, right?" Grabbing her notebook, she thrusts it into the air and begins giving me a play-by-play of how she wants that magical night to unfold. According to her rudimentary drawings, it involves Mike arriving in a white limo, gifting her a few dozen roses, and slow dancing the whole night. And he will end their perfect first date by proclaiming to the entire school how much he loves her.

I momentarily close my eyes during her chattering and count my blessings. Mike asked her out and now Jessica is back to her old, delusional self again. And on top of that, she hasn't said a word about Edward and me yet. I can barely believe it. She must not have heard the rumors. She's in her own little world right now and I am safe. For now.

Maybe my luck is finally changing for the better.

With Jessica excitedly talking to me before and after our two shared classes, no one dares to approach me. It gradually dawns upon me that they likely assume that the Queen Of Gossip is working her extracting magic on me. Little do they know that Jess is too busy describing how she and Mike will one day have the statistical 2.5 kids and own both a winter and summer house along with their primary residence.

When it's nearly time for us to go to lunch, I'm unsure of what to do. Edward invited me to sit with the Cullens, but I don't know how to go about doing it. Do I just plop down with them and say "hey, what's up, guys?" like I belong there with them?

And what do I do about Jessica? I've always sat with her in the cafeteria. How do I explain that I won't be sitting with her today without causing her to ask a million follow-up questions? It's harder for me to picture myself telling a friend to mind her own business.

As we are about to shuffle out of fourth period, I've settled on a promising strategy. I won't tell her about Edward inviting me to sit with them. I can pretend that I fully intend to follow her to our regular table. However, once I buy my food and begin crossing the lunchroom, I'll fake an ankle sprain near the Cullen table. Edward's rescuing instincts will be activated and he'll come over to pull me up from the floor. I'll tell Jessica that my poor, injured foot can't take the long trek to our distant table. Hopefully, Edward will pick up on my ruse and insist that I should sit with him and his family since his table is closer.

But, as she and I step out of the classroom, my plan crumbles in front of my eyes. Edward is waiting for me. He rests his back against the school building, only a few steps away.

Jessica notices him right after I do. "Hey, Edward!" she squeaks. "Whatcha doing standing there for?"

He pushes off the wall and strolls over. "Just waiting for Bella," he answers with a head bow in my direction

Like a hound that has picked up a tantalizing scent, she snaps her head around so that she can study me. "Why?"

While he looks as tranquil as a warm summer's breeze, I try not to panic. There's still a chance that I can give her an answer that will assuage her curiosity without revealing anything personal. I'm not ready to tell her what Edward and I are up to yet. Especially when I have no idea what we're doing anyway.

"I'm not going to be sitting with you guys today," I confess to her.

Jessica's lips jut out into a childish pout. "How come? I was going to ask your advice on what type of dress I should buy for the dance." Approximately two microseconds later, all signs of her disappointment vanishes as she bounces on the tips of her toes. "Ooh! I forgot to tell Edward! Guess what? Mike and I are going to the spring dance together!"

Edward drums up a tiny smile for her benefit. "Congratulations. I'm sure you two will have a nice time."

Her brown eyes crinkle at the corners due to her wide smile. She's probably pleased to have a new person to shower with the details of her impending date. "I know, right? It's going to be sooo much fun! I was thinking that he should wear a tie that would match my dress, too. That would be really cute. And- "

She suddenly stops yakking and turns back to me. Her eyes are squinting in the same way she does whenever Mr. Varner assigns a tough math worksheet for us to complete before the end of the hour and she doesn't have a clue of what to do. "If you're not sitting with us today, then where will you be?"

I guess it's too early to fake that sprained ankle. I have no choice but to tell her the truth. She'll see for herself where I'll be sitting soon anyway.

My dry throat constricts when I feel the weight of her quizzical stare. I try swallowing to lubricate my mouth but it doesn't help.

"I'll be with the Cupggns," I mumble without looking at her directly.

Turns out that I can't say their name very well right now. I wonder what sort of psychiatric disorder is rearing its ugly head this time?

"Huh?"

I glance between her face and Edward's. She appears more puzzled than ever. Edward just looks like he's watching an intriguing stage adaptation being played out.

"I'm sitting with the Culkhgns."

"What?" she asks with creased forehead.

I expel a lungful of air and force myself to get it out so that I can get away that much sooner. "I said I'll be sitting with the _Cullens_, OK?"

"The Cullens?" she repeats, bug-eyed.

Edward enters the conversation and says in a serene tone, "Yes. Bella and I will be with my family today."

Jessica's eyelids form into paper thin slits. She glances at me, then Edward, and finally back to me. "How come?"

I open my mouth to tell her that since Edward has given his family such a glowing review of my awesome English tutoring skills, we are now in negotiations to have me include them too. I figure that will be a decent cover story.

But then Edward has to go and blow it.

He slips a hand into his pocket and says as candidly as can be, "Because they want to get to know her better."

Jessica's mouth flops open as wide as a snake attempting to swallow a hippopotamus. "_Get to know her better_?"

I try to catch his attention by covertly shaking my head, praying he'd get the message not to reveal anything else to tantalize her. But he doesn't notice and keeps right on going.

"Mmm hmm. They are quite fond of her already, but they have been pleading with me to spend more time with her."

"_More_ time? As in, _Bella_ has spent time with them _before_?"

He moves his head up and down in response to her question.

Well, isn't he just a wealth of information today? What happened to that quiet guy who prefers to keep everything private?

One of Jessica's brows arches as high as it can go and she examines our faces. "That's really interesting. I didn't know that she has gotten so cozy with you and your family."

Before he can blurt out anything else, I jump back into the fray. "Well, they are very friendly..." I drift off, licking my dry as a bone lips.

Her head cocks to its side and she analyses our faces thoroughly. A few moments later, I see her lips rise in a smirk. "Yeah... _Friendly_," she emphasizes significantly.

Edward takes a pointed peek at me. "And they will be wondering what's keeping us if we don't hurry along soon."

With her eyes still monitoring us, her smile becomes more musing. "Sure. You two go on ahead."

Feeling like a prisoner that just busted out of the slammer, I swivel around and start to move towards the cafeteria.

Well, that wasn't an ideal situation to be in. Now she knows something is going on. But it could have been worse. She could have demanded to know _more_ before she let us go.

"Oh. And Bella?"

My lungs almost collapse from the sound of that voice. I reluctantly turn to face her, dreading to hear whatever it is that she wants now.

"_I'll be calling you tonight,_" she finishes with a hard, meaningful stare.

I acknowledge her with a nod and then zoom away as fast as my unreliable legs can carry me. But honestly, walking and running have never been my strong points. Edward is by my side in almost the blink of an eye.

While we head to lunch, I take stock of the situation we now face. Jessica may not be the brightest at reading or writing, but she is a _master_ at getting people to talk. She utilizes several devious techniques to get the information she craves. She will start off by giving her intended target a false sense of security. Their conversation will initially be focused on chit chatting about others. She will then tell them an interesting piece of gossip, hoping that he or she will want to top hers by revealing an even better secret. If that doesn't work, she will throw out compliments and/or flirt to soften them up before flooding them with questions. If all else fails, she whines to get what she wants. Her voice takes on the equivalent of having bamboo skewers shoved under your fingernails. Soon, her victim has no choice but to tell her everything.

And she is calling me tonight. I am _so_ screwed.

"Jessica will be grilling me like an investigative reporter now," I mumble aloud, my mouth in a sullen frown.

"She must not be a very good reporter. How could she not know about all the rumors that have been swirling around about us?"

My head jerks around to look at Edward. He moves with long, easy strides that hint of unwavering self-assurance. And his face isn't frowning like mine is currently doing. You could almost say that he appears calm and carefree. How is that even possible? Does he not understand what he did? He just unleashed a beast upon me all because he couldn't keep his mouth shut in front of her. And here he is making light of it all.

I level an unmistakable scowl in his direction. "You're lucky that I like you so much because - otherwise - I _really_ _wouldn't_ like you right now," I grumble ominously.

He grins a slow, sexy smile. "Then I must be _extraordinarily_ lucky then," he stresses with a gleam in his eyes.

My traitorous face flushes hot pink, obliterating my annoyance. It's hard to stay mad when faced with that much charm.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N-**

**Next Chapter****\- Bella dines with the Cullens (those poor things, lol!). And it's blood typing day in Biology class.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	16. Fit Boy Plus Faint Girl

**Chapter 16- Fit Boy + Faint Girl**

**March 3, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

Considering the roller coaster ride of emotions that I've been through in the last twenty-four hours, sitting at a new lunch table shouldn't make me apprehensive. But, nevertheless, I am.

In all the weeks I have gone to school here, I have never seen anyone from outside of their family sit with the Cullens. Edward's adopted siblings don't interact very much with outsiders. From what I've been told, it is by their choice that they don't have any friends. But in all honesty, the Cullens' intimidating beauty keeps most of the students from wanting to do much more than admire them from afar. And if someone _does_ get the nerve up to try to break into their clique, Rosalie will give them the frostiest death-glare imaginable until the unfortunate soul scurries off in the opposite direction.

I hope Edward didn't just assume that _all_ of them will accept me at their table. I'm not sure if I can handle Rosalie's wrath if he is wrong.

As Edward and I go through the lunch line, I pick items at random and drop them on my tray. I'm barely paying attention to what I am doing. There's too much zipping through my mind to worry over what flavor of pudding I want today. Although I admit that this inattention may prove to be an unwise move if I accidentally choose the mystery meat special. Hopefully, Edward will notice and stop me if I chose something that dangerous to my health.

I pay for my food and wait for him off to the side. Once he has paid as well, he joins me. "Are you ready?" he asks with raised eyebrows.

No. I am not. But I'm too stubborn (and embarrassed) to confess that I'm afraid that his sister will expel me from their table like a bouncer throwing out a rowdy drunkard from a bar. So, instead I give a small nod and follow his lead.

While I travel across the cafeteria, my eyes promptly lock onto their table, unable to look away. The Cullens really are beautiful. They may be as pale as calla lilies but that doesn't take away from their attractiveness. Each face is striking in its own way. Their clothes are chic, well-tailored, and flatters their varying physiques. It's hard to believe that people this aesthetically appealing can even exist outside of fairytales.

As we draw nearer, my tray shakes a little in my hands. Emmett and Rosalie are talking back and forth, but their golden-yellow eyes watch our progress intently. Her flawlessly sculpted eyebrows are pinched together, giving her a disgruntled appearance. I do take some small comfort when I spot Alice wearing a sweet smile. Every other second, her head snaps to her right and she excitedly says something to Jasper. He doesn't appear to utter a word. He limits his communication to a head nod here and there.

Once we make it to the table, Edward drags out the empty chair from beside Jasper and offers it to me. I take a guarded peek at the blonde-haired boy. I see the tiniest of smiles on his otherwise expressionless face, yet it somehow feels like so much more. A peaceful sensation flows into me, eradicating a large chunk of my anxiety. My hands stop their trembling. My teeth no longer feel the need to chew upon my bottom lip. I can even give a small but genuine smile in return. I've never had my worries disappear so quickly before. I guess Jasper's subdued friendliness was just what I needed in order to feel a little more welcome at the Cullen table.

I place my lunch tray down and begin to take a seat. Moments later, my chair magically moves closer to the table. As soon as my butt hits the seat, my head whips around to find that Edward is the culprit. Taking in consideration of his door opening OCD, I should have known that he would be the type of guy that likes to push in chairs for women, too. Frankly, I'm surprised this behavior did not manifest sooner.

He takes a seat on my other side and flashes a reassuring smile my way before glancing at his siblings. "Well, I suppose you all remember Bella?" he says as an introduction.

"Hi, Bella!" chirps Alice immediately thereafter. Alice's button nose, pointy chin, and large, smiling eyes make her look like a full-fledged fairy. She sits on the other side of Jasper and appears unable to remain still for longer than a couple of seconds at a time. Her petite body keeps bouncing in her chair, reminding me of a hyperactive child who just drank a whole can of Red Bull.

Meanwhile, the whispered words between Rosalie and Emmett wane and they focus their full attention on me.

No matter how many times I see her, the unparalleled beauty Rosalie possesses comes as something of a shock. Her long, golden-blonde hair tumbles down her back and elegantly frames her perfect face. But unlike the welcoming feeling Alice and Jasper gave me, I don't sense the same from Rosalie. She peers back in a clinical way, her amber irises moving up and down my face as she studies me. Her lipstick-red lips are tight and unsmiling. She isn't glaring, but it doesn't appear that she's very happy that I am here.

As for Emmett, I see the corners of his mouth slanted up into a faint smile. His warm, child-like eyes don't feel chilly like his girlfriend's. If Rosalie is the Fair Princess in this fairytale, Emmett is the Gentle Giant. It's almost hard for me to believe that I had ever once feared him.

"How's it going?" he says like an old friend.

"I'm fine. And you?" I smile.

His smile vanishes and he glances at his tray of roast chicken. A sigh slips from his lips when he meets my gaze once again. "I've been better, but I guess I'll survive."

I grasp my fork and finally take notice of what I bought for lunch today. Enchiladas. Potato salad. Celery sticks. Applesauce. It's a strange combination, I admit. But at least it's edible.

Two seats away, I notice Alice's golden eyes constantly darting over to me as I eat. It doesn't take long before she is impatiently tapping Jasper's shoulder with her finger. "I'm sorry, Jazz, but you need to switch seats with me," she requests in a voice that sounds as pleasant as a music box.

Jasper takes a quick peek my way and his smile grows larger. "But I'm comfortable here," he says playfully.

The beaming grin she wore moments ago vanishes without a trace. Her bright eyes narrow at her boyfriend, giving her a surprisingly menacing aura. Something akin to fear crosses his face once he catches sight of her expression. Almost before I can even blink, he's up and out of his chair. It's kind of funny to see a guy whose size and antisocial reputation intimidates a large portion of the school appears frightened of a girl not much taller than the table we're sitting at.

With her smile returning, Alice leisurely rises and moves to sit next to me while Jasper takes possession of her old chair. Alice pivots her body to face me and releases a contented breath. "I'm so glad you decided to sit with us today Bella. I just _know_ that we'll get along great!"

Another smile takes over my face. It's almost too easy to like Alice. She seems to have a perpetually upbeat and eager personality that has a habit of rubbing off on you. How someone as friendly as she is with me can remain aloof from a majority of the student population is a mystery.

"Thank you," I reply. "I think so, too."

Alice's grin stretches wide, evidently pleased by what I said. But then, inexplicably, something changes about her. The smile on her elven face slips until her pale lips part open. Her eyes glaze over and stares off into the far distance, seemingly no longer aware that I am even here.

A forkful of enchilada pauses at my mouth. I am too concerned by her abrupt change in behavior to go on eating. Does she have a severe case of Attention Deficit Disorder? Did something catch her eye and that's why she stopped paying attention to me?

My head swivels in the direction she is currently staring, expecting to see something that could explain her sudden change in interest. All I see at first is a boring white concrete block wall. Although, as my eyes continue to wander, I do notice a table full of freshmen girls whispering and peeking at us. My eyes flick away from them and land on a second table of students. I am alarmed to see that they are looking this way as well. The same goes for the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth tables I examine.

Turns out that while I was busy concentrating on Edward's family, every single person in the cafeteria has been monitoring our every move.

My eyes widen as panic sets in. Everywhere I look I discover someone else closely observing the Cullen table. I thought it was bad this morning in the parking lot when Edward and I were walking together. But being watched by a couple of dozen students is _nothing_ compared to being spied upon by hundreds. I can feel every eye drilling relentlessly into me, each one appearing to take this unexpected development in a different way. The most popular reaction is a mixture of surprise and confusion, though the ones that disturb me the most are the looks of downright hostility.

With hundreds of people all focused on us, my breathing accelerates. Even the teachers can't help but marvel at the sight of me hanging out at the Cullen table. Tyler and his friends are all gaping open-mouthed like zombies. Lauren sits nearby and has teamed up with her cronies to scowl at me with ice-cold eyes. Across the room, Eric and his Math Club team are alternating between watching our table and scribbling furiously into their notepads. They're probably calculating the odds of it being the new girl that's the one who finally got to sit with the Cullens. If I wasn't currently on the verge of having an anxiety attack, I might would go over and ask what figure they came up with.

"It will be all right, Bella," a soothing voice croons into my ear. I slowly turn away from our crowd of onlookers and find Edward's face. Soft green eyes gaze into mine. "They are just a little curious right now. I'm sure that this will be old news by tomorrow," he reassures me.

"Yep," a feminine voice chirps. My head whirls around until I find Alice watching the two of us. No longer is she staring dazedly off into the distance. With an oddly cheerful smile, she adds, "There will _lots_ more for them to talk about tomorrow."

Edward's bronzed brow cocks up as he regards his adopted sister. He studies her for a few beats, shakes his head with a sigh, and then reluctantly resumes eating.

I suck in a breath and slowly release it in hopes that it will help to calm me down. I try to take comfort in what he said. _It will be all right_. It's just a few hundred people watching us. They can't really do anything other than talk and stare. Eventually something else will interest them and they won't care anymore about what Edward and I may be doing. I hope.

But just watching Edward helps me the most in calming down. Seeing him eating his sandwich as though it's perfectly normal to have the entire school looking on makes me determined to do the same. If he can ignore them, I can too. I push everything from my mind except the people at this table and shove in a bite of celery stick. By degrees, the unsettling feeling of being watched fades into the background. Being surrounded by a table full of people who are more attractive than supermodels is a great distraction.

Right after I start digging into my food, the others at the table do the same - although occasionally, I get a good glimpse of them and wonder who on earth taught them how to eat. While Edward may consume his lunch with table manners that even Miss Manners can approve of, he still eats somewhat quickly. His BLT sandwich disappears in a matter of a couple of minutes. Yet it's the opposite with the rest of the Cullens. Alice, Rosalie, and Jasper take dainty little bites. I swear I saw exactly one pea on Jasper's fork when he placed it inside of his mouth. Then, on top of that, they each chew their food for a long time. Does it really take thirty chews before it's safe to swallow two drops of vanilla pudding? Evidently, Rosalie thinks so.

But I think the person with the strangest eating habits is Emmett. He's staring down at his tray with his mouth turned down. The fork he holds is dwarfed by his baseball mitt sized hand. I watch as he pokes his fork in and out of the lettuce and tomatoes of his side salad. He cuts his chicken into almost microscopic pieces and moves it around his tray. He stirs his melting ice cream in a circular pattern with his spoon. But I never see him eat one iota of food. Shouldn't he be hungry? I know I am - and I'm only a third of his size.

While I am puzzling over this strange phenomena, Edward swipes up his napkin and neatly rubs it across his lips. "Still feeling nauseous, Emmett?" he asks sympathetically.

Emmett's face pops up from its former position of frowning down at the table. When their eyes meet, his lips rise into a slow smile. "Yeah! Everything still tastes awful. I don't think I should eat any more right now."

With a loud clank, Rosalie's fork falls from her manicured fingers and lands on her lunch tray. Her focus locks onto Emmett and one golden eyebrow arches up into almost a point. "If you're too _sick_ to eat, then I guess I should keep away from you for a few days. I certainly don't want to become ill from being _too close to you_."

Emmett's eyes bulge for a split second. Then, without another word, he snatches up his fork and begins scarfing down his salad - almost without even bothering to chew.

Like I said, this family has the weirdest eating habits...

After a brief lull of silence, Alice delicately sets down her eating utensil and clears her throat. "So, Bella... Have you gotten used to Forks yet?"

I take my time in chewing my food before I answer her. This question may be a trap. If she's anything like a majority of this small town's population, they will be offended if you tell them that Forks is a place that no one in their right mind could ever truly "get used to". I think I can survive it here, but I'll never love it as devotedly as some. So, I decide to keep my answer simple yet still truthful.

"Yes and no. Dealing with the constant cold and rain has been kind of challenging. It's hard to get used to."

Alice's head tilts off to the side thoughtfully. "That's right. You're from the desert, aren't you? I bet that most of your wardrobe is warm weather oriented, right?"

My mouth develops a weak smile as I think back on weeks of nothing but gorgeous azure skies and balmy air. It never stays cold for long in Phoenix. In Forks the only times the temperature rises above fifty degrees during the winter is when Edward throws me a wink.

"Yeah. Before I moved here, I only needed a couple of sweaters and a light jacket. I left most of the warm weather stuff behind."

Alice leans in closer as though what I just said is actually interesting. "Really? How many sweaters do you have now?"

"I don't know," I answer with a one shoulder shrug. "My mom and I bought a few things before I left Phoenix, and that's the last time I really paid any attention to my clothes."

Her face briefly flinches, making her nose look like she is doing an impression of a bunny rabbit. "What are they made of? Wool? Cashmere? Cotton? Poly-blend?" she quickly rattles off.

I take a quick peek at Edward and see him watching our interaction with a tight, twisted mouth. My shoulders shrug again once I turn back her way. "I really don't know. I only think about them when it's time to do the laundry." And I barely think about them even then. I've shrunk quite a few sweaters through the years due to me not checking the labels before washing.

I hear Alice inhale a quiet gasp. "You can at least tell me what colors they come in, right?" she asks with widening eyes.

My forehead scrunches up while I try to think. "It's kind of hard to remember them all. Umm... I know there's a white one. And a grey one. And I think a green one-"

"What shade?" she interrupts with her finger held up in the air.

I nervously draw my bottom lip under my teeth. To me there are only three shades of green. Light green. Dark green. And Edward green. I don't keep up with the rest.

I'm beginning to see that Alice takes clothes a lot more seriously than I do.

"I-I'm not sure."

She huffs out a sigh and slowly shakes her head. "That's too bad. It's important to keep track of your color palette. I do an inventory once a month to make sure I have at least one new outfit of every shade that looks best on me. Just last week when I was sorting through my closet I noticed that I only had one-"

Edward butts into her story and deadpans, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Alice, but no one at this table cares to know how many purple polka dotted sweaters you have in your closet."

Her chin juts defiantly into the air. "How dare you say such a thing to me. I would _never_ wear purple polka dots. They make you look like you just caught some communicable disease."

My hand covers my mouth when I laugh. Suddenly, I'm happy that I took Edward up on his offer to sit at this table today. Once you get over the fact that hundreds of people are spying on you, it's really kind of nice here. Edward is much more relaxed. And listening to him fuss with Alice is just too entertaining to pass up.

Alice's alabaster-white face lights up when our eyes meet once more. One tiny finger begins musingly tapping against her chin. "Now, about your closet. I think we should start by sorting through it as soon as possible. You're so _lucky_ that it's almost spring! Just think of the colors you can wear! I bet you'll look _fantastic_ in pastels. We could start by finding a rose pink blouse with ivory trimming to accent your skin tone. Then, if we can find you a-"

Her mouth moves but my brain wants to shut down in order to save itself. This is what happens when people talk about clothes and fashion in front of me. That's probably one reason why I didn't have any close friends in Phoenix. I had a reputation for disappearing whenever the topic of discussion veered to such things as which cute crop top someone should buy or which store had the best cut-off jean shorts.

Although I don't care about clothes very much, I understand than Alice does. I can overlook the boring aspects of what she wants to chat about in order to not offend her. But, why is she talking as if she is making it her life's mission to clothe me as well?

"Then, we can find you a skirt to show off those legs of yours!" she goes on, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm thinking a cream color will go great with that blouse I told you about. I guess we _could_ go with white but that's up to you. Now for formal wear, I saw a dress that would be _per-fect_ for you. What are your thoughts on spaghetti-straps, Bella? I know they're not for everyone, but-"

Jasper's large, white hand appears on Alice's shoulder and she immediately stops talking. He looks at her with patient eyes and says, "How about we let Bella get used to you first before you go jumping into her closet just yet. I think you may be scaring her a little."

_Hallelujah, Jasper._

Thanks to his intervention, I relax into my seat and try to resume eating my enchilada. Maybe she'll become distracted by the navy-blue polo shirt he has on and ask him what it's made of.

At the same time, Alice's lips pucker out into a small frown. "But if we don't strategize now, how will we possibly be ready for our shopping trip?"

Those worrying words hit and stun me all at once. That bite of enchilada didn't even reach my mouth before I'm worrying over what she said. "Shopping trip?"

Her expression turns joyful and her lips lift into a beaming smile. "That's right!" she breathes out excitedly. "You don't know yet! I've seen it all! Two hours at Macy's. Three at Nordstrom's. One at Saks. And at least thirty minutes at this little boutique in Seattle cause they sometimes have really unique designs by rising designers."

Emmett let's loose a chuckle that creases his cheeks. "I hope you don't mind living at the mall for a few days, Bella. Alice makes shopping trips look more like a safari expedition."

My face winces a little. I rank clothes shopping just under hiking in things that I would rather not do. And if you combine shopping _with_ hiking around a mall, that's practically torture in my book. I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I would rather scrub my bathroom floor with a toothbrush than spend untold hours shopping for clothes that I don't need.

"Umm. Actually," I begin hesitantly. "I don't really like to shop for clothes. I usually just run in a store, grab a couple of things, then pay and leave."

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Alice's smile collapses and a look of absolute shock takes control. She no longer speaks, moves her body, or even blinks as she stares at me. I always thought the Cullens looked like statues come to life. And it now appears that she has reverted back to being a regular, _unmoving_ statue.

A laugh on par with a sonic boom explodes from Emmett as he points at her. "Look! Bella broke Alice!"

With an expression of genuine concern, Jasper begins waving his hand in front of her eyes. "Alice? Are you OK? Speak to me, please," he begs.

When she doesn't respond, he grasps her slim shoulders and shakes until she comes back to life. Her eyes are the first to move. Then, she pulls Jasper closer by tugging at his sleeve.

"Jazz?" she asks in a quivering tone.

"Yes?"

She takes in an audible gulp of air before she goes on. "Tell me that I just imagined that."

Rosalie and Emmett each resume eating their food as though it is a completely normal occurrence for Alice to go off on the deep end every now and then. But not Edward. He's too busy frowning to eat just yet.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," replies Jasper.

Alice's eyes snap shut temporarily and her head rocks back and forth. "But I can still see it and everything! I don't understand!"

Interrupting the meltdown, Edward suddenly starts chuckling at her. "Of course you can _imagine_ seeing yourself on a shopping spree. That's all you ever dream about."

Alice's formally distressed face finds Edward's and her expression goes back to normal. Her rigid shoulders relax and Jasper releases his grip on her. Without making eye contact with anyone, she fidgets in her chair a few times and stares down at her lunch tray.

Both Edward and Jasper pick their forks back up and start eating as though everything is OK again. I do the same by taking a few bites of potato salad. I'm pretty good at pretending that someone didn't just have a nervous breakdown, too.

"Bella?" a tiny voice chimes a minute or so later.

I swallow the food in my mouth and find Alice sheepishly looking up at me. "Yes?" I answer in a steady voice.

"How often do you shop?"

My lips purse out as I give her my rough estimation. "A couple of times a year, maybe?"

"But you wouldn't mind shopping more if you had a friend to go with you, right? One that could help you pick out the right things? One that could carry all your shopping bags?"

My head whirls around to Edward. I was hoping I'd see a smile and hear him say something like, "_Gotcha, Bella! Alice is a professional prankster and loves making people think she has a serious shopping disorder. Isn't it hilarious?_" But all I see when I look at him is a growing scowl that is being directed at her.

"Uhh..." I utter helplessly.

"All you would need to do is show up!" she pleads with a desperate look in her eyes. "I could find you a nice chair to sit in and you could relax. I would do all the work for you!"

Without warning, her eyes glaze over and stare off into space again. But unlike what happened earlier, this episode lasts for only a few seconds. It doesn't take long before she meets Edward's grumpy glare and her eyes grow huge in their sockets.

Immediately afterwards, she shifts her focus back to me. Her expression doesn't appear as frantic as before. "Never mind, Bella. It was wrong of me to push you into something you don't want to do. Please forgive me?" she says in a more natural voice.

She sounds so repentant and sorrowful that I couldn't say "no" if I wanted to. Besides, people with shopping disorders this severe need our sympathy, not scorn. So, I smile and say, "Of course I will. It's OK."

Her mouth curls into a smile like mine and she exhales a tranquil breath. I pick my fork back up and begin the task of finishing my lunch.

Thirty seconds later, I hear her fingernails drumming a beat on the table. I glance over at Edward and catch him rolling his eyes as he tries to eat.

Around a minute after that, her hand lands next to her lunch tray and jars the table. She twists around to me and says, "Can you at least tell me how many shoes you own?"

"_Alice_," Edward growls through his clenched, square jaw.

"Sorry!" she squeaks.

The remainder of the lunch hour is tame in comparison to the first half. Alice was quieter and never brought up clothes again. Emmett, Jasper, and Edward took turns in keeping the conversation flowing smoothly. Only Rosalie never uttered another word.

After Edward and I exit the cafeteria, we head to our lockers. He jogs off and grabs his books in less than a minute. When he strolls back, I'm still trying to pull my door open. He takes one look at my pitiful struggle, passes me his things to hold, places one hand as leverage on an accompanying locker, and yanks it open. Before relinquishing control of the locker back to me, he swings the metal door open wide to examine it. Upon seeing the areas where it often sticks, he pushes and bangs with the heel of his hand the badly dented spots until they are almost as flat as the rest of the door. The next thing I know, I'm easily opening and closing it myself. If we weren't at school being stared at by a quarter of its students right now, I would kiss him. Of course, I've never done anything like that before, but I think I'm willing to figure it out.

When he and I walk into Biology, we are met with a class full of curious stares. Except for Mike. His isn't curious as much as it is antagonistic. Mike's thick blonde brows are smashed together until it looks like a single, unbroken line. He also doesn't wander over to say hello like he normally does before this class starts.

Since we have a captive audience, Edward and I don't say too much once we cross the threshold. I try to seem unaffected by their attention. When the two boys who sit at the table in front of us turn fully around just to listen to Edward tell me that he needs to go sharpen his pencil, I don't appear overly concerned by their obvious eavesdropping attempt. My acting skills must be improving.

Mr. Banner ambles into the room just as class is set to commence. He juggles several cardboard boxes in his arms and closes the classroom door with his foot. He then wanders up to Mike and asks for his help in distributing the boxes.

When a box arrives at my table, I'm about to peek inside when the snap of rubber gloves on skin grabs my attention. My head jerks up to find that the teacher was the source of the sound.

"The Red Cross will be having a blood drive next week in Port Angeles. So I thought that everyone should know their blood type before going to donate," he explains with a smirk.

In direct response to this announcement, my face drains of color - as if my own blood is attempting to hide. I don't like the sound of where this is heading...

With his permission, Mr. Banner jabs a sterile lancet into Mike's index finger and breezily explains how it should be done. I can detect the salty scent of fresh blood before I can even see it. I'm trying to pay attention but the room is gradually beginning to spin. No one seems to notice my discomfort.

Next, Mr. Banner squeezes Mike's finger until it glistens with red. My palms begin to sweat and my face turns cold. I blink my eyes to try to clear my head but it's no use. The rotating room feels like I'm on an out of control carnival ride. Soon, I hear the hushed giggles and cries of my classmates as they too stab their fingers. My eyes slam shut. The nauseating aroma of blood swirls under my nose, increasing my lightheadedness.

One second I am sitting up and pretending that I am A-OK. The next second, I can no longer control myself and my upper body collapses like a rag doll on top of the table.

Well, at least I'm still somewhat conscious...

"Bella?"

_Crap_.

Half-fainting in any situation is bad. But half-fainting in the presence of the guy you are trying to impress is _much_ worse.

With my cheek pressed down on the lab table, a hand soon comes to rest against my forehead. I reopen my eyes just enough to see two Edwards looking back at me, both of them wearing concerned frowns. Ordinarily I wouldn't complain if I saw multiple Edwards. Frankly, I think this world could use more of them. But I recognize that having double vision isn't a good sign under present circumstances. And if I stay in this room much longer, things will only get worse.

"I need to get out of here," I whisper in a weak voice.

He stares back for approximately two seconds before he throws himself into action. Through my half-lidded eyes, I watch him thrust his hand into the air and snap his fingers - just like if he were attempting to catch the attention of a passing waiter. "Bella isn't feeling well," he says.

Mr. Banner moves into my line of sight and bends down until I can see the shiny bald spot on top of his head. Or, to be more honest, I see _two_ Mr. Banners do this. Having double vision unfortunately is not reserved exclusively to dreamy, bronze-haired boys.

"Are you OK, Bella?" the teacher asks with a pinched forehead.

You might think that seeing a girl with no blood in her face and barely having the energy to open her eyes would be answer enough. You might also think that the girl could set aside her pride for a moment and admit that she is freakishly affected by the sight and smell of fresh blood. But you would be wrong on both counts.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I say as a means of sidestepping the question. I've been to the doctor's office and E.R. loads of times, so I already know my blood type, body mass index, and average blood pressure. Back in Phoenix, I was on a first name basis with most of the staff at the local hospital. Oddly enough, I found that they appeared more saddened by the announcement that I was moving to Forks than the kids at my old school.

The teacher ignores my statement and asks a more direct question. "Are you feeling faint?"

I really hate to point out my frailties. But it's either I admit the truth, or I spend the next forty-five minutes passed out on my school desk.

"Yes," I confess hoarsely.

Mr. Banner straightens up until I can no longer see his face. "Can you take her to the nurse?" I hear him say off to the side.

"Of course," Edward answers.

"I can do it, Mr. Banner!" shouts Mike from a distance.

"It's already taken care of, Mike. I'm taking her," Edward explains.

"But Edward hasn't done the assignment yet. I think I should take her instead. _I'm_ _finished_," Mike says from somewhere right behind me.

"I already know my blood type," Edward rebutts in a flat tone. "It's B positive. I have my blood donor card in my wallet if you need to check, Mr. Banner."

"That's fine, Edward. Go on ahead and take her to the office," directs Mr. Banner before he shuffles away to deal with other matters going on with the class.

A hand locks on to my shoulder and my body instinctively stiffens. "I really think that I should do it," Mike grumbles in a lowered tone.

I may be barely aware of my surroundings. And I may be too out of it to be able to leave this class on my own two feet. But I sure as hell know that I don't want Mike to escort me out of here. If I pass out on the way to the nurse's office, he may interpret that as me giving him permission to squeeze and fondle anything he likes.

With my eyes clamped shut, I summon the last bit of strength I have left and moan, "Edward, please get me out of here."

"_Move your hand, Mike_," orders Edward in a rough, almost growling voice that I have never heard him use before.

The hand digging into my shoulder releases itself. Moments later, my eyes reopen a tiny bit when I feel Edward's arm encircle my waist. He weaves one of my own arms around the back of his neck and pulls me into a standing position. I hear more giggles from the room as he helps me hobble away to the door. I'm not sure if the students are laughing at their assignment or at me. Really I'm too out of it to even care which it is right now. I can be embarrassed later when I feel better.

As soon as he opens the door and the fresh, chilly breeze hits me, I take in a large gulp to replace the stagnant air of the classroom. Edward and I take baby steps down the sidewalk. Though my vision is being affected by my lightheadedness, I don't see or hear anyone outside other than the two of us. This is a good thing since I don't want anyone else to see me like this.

Suddenly, a new wave of dizziness strikes out of nowhere and my queasiness rises. Standing up like this is only doubling my problems. If I don't do something quick, I'll be drizzling Edward's shoes in vomit.

I stop walking and pull my arm from around his neck. I need to lie down. _Now_. All I want is to drop down to the ground and feel the cool sidewalk against my face. Maybe that will help get me better sooner.

I try to shimmy loose from the hold he has from around my waist but he is unshakable. "Let me lie down for a minute," I mutter deliriously.

"I'm sorry, Bella, but I will not allow you to wallow around on the wet ground when you need to be seen by the nurse." He then moves me forward a small step.

In retaliation, a hint of bile rises to the bottom of my throat and burns a warning.

"I'm just a little faint. I'll be fine if I can just stay here for a little while," I counter.

Thanks to my double vision, I observe my two Edwards blinking back at me for a few beats. Next, they heave out a deep sigh with slumped shoulders. Neither version of Edward appears pleased by what I want to do.

But then, without uttering a word, he stoops down and swipes my legs out from under me. My equilibrium gets thrown off balance and my head spins in a mixture or dizziness and confusion. It takes me a couple of seconds to figure out that I am being carried in his arms.

My eyes flap open like a window shade being yanked up. "What are you doing? Put me back down," I gasp, my panic increasing. Throwing up right now would be truly disastrous.

He readjusts the way he is carrying me and makes a low grunting sound as he does so. "I can't do that. I'm helping you," he replies calmly.

"Put me down. I'll walk, OK?" I plead in almost a whine.

As a rule, Edward does just about anything I ask of him. Help me with a tough math problem? Check. Grab something for me that's out of my reach? Check. But he's irritatingly pigheaded when it comes to this. He keeps on strolling along as if toting me around like a helpless newborn is no problem.

"We're almost there," he croons. "Just put up with me a little longer."

Since he insists in carrying me, I clamp my mouth closed and pray for the ability to hold in all bodily fluids. It must work because soon he's marching up to the front desk of the office.

"She fainted in Biology," he announces to the room. I take a cautious peek to discover Ms. Cope scurrying over to a door and pushing it open for us. Edward follows right behind her. A moment later, I'm lying on my back on a tiny, lumpy cot in the nurse's office. I've never been more relieved that I made it through a hardship without decorating someone's shirt with my vomit.

A white-haired woman appears above me, peering down in pure bewilderment. Her head twists to her left and looks across the small room.

"We were blood typing today and she fainted," I hear Edward explain to her.

The woman sagely nods and her face becomes sympathetic. "I see. Well, you just lie down for a few minutes. I'll go fetch you an ice pack."

As she leaves the room, she dims the lights. My eyes gratefully open wider now that the bright fluorescent bulbs are no longer blinding me. I stare up at the tiles of the ceiling and try to relax. Now that I'm in a reclined position well away from the Bio lab, my senses slowly return and I can think clearly again. And that's when I start getting depressed.

I undoubtedly had good things happen to me today. Edward seems to want to be around me more. His family (for the most part) appears open to the concept of the two us being more than just friends. And, he fixed the locker that has driven me up the wall for well over a month.

But I had bad things happen today, too. And plenty of it. Edward and I were bugged at every step. Hundreds of bored people with nothing better to do tried to shove their noses into our business. And then I had to go and feed their insatiable need for excitement by fainting in the middle of class._ In front of Edward_. How he hasn't laughed at what I must have looked like is beyond me.

I stop morosely staring at the ceiling and search the room until I find Edward. I see him a few feet away, sitting in a chair and watching me closely. His handsome face is visibly stressed. My eyes gently close and I sigh at how my lousy luck and weak stomach has affected the both of us.

"The only way that today could have been any more humiliating for me is if I had passed out in the cafeteria," I say aloud.

A scraping sound against the linoleum interrupts my self-pity. A pleasing, spicy scent overruns my sense of smell. I'd recognize that particular cologne anywhere.

"It's not so bad," Edward replies.

A hand wraps around my fingers, and my eyes flutter open to admire the sight. Edward's thumb massages my knuckles, apparently with the purpose of soothing my bruised pride. It admittedly feels nice, but it does nothing to relieve my mortification.

"Really? You had to _drag me_ out of class. That sounds pretty bad to me."

A laugh falls from his smiling lips. "I'm not a stranger to embarrassing situations, Bella. Do you not recall how we first met?"

My eyes roll at the comment he just made. I remember that incident just fine. On my first day of school, I get paired up in Biology with a green-eyed boy who (unbeknownst to me) is in the throes of a bad case of the flu. At the end of class, he is forced to escape from the room before he throws up. No one except me even realized anything was wrong with him, and I didn't get the full story until Alice informed me the next morning. That's it. End of story. He didn't make a spectacle of himself by needing to be pulled out of the room like I had to be today.

"It wasn't _that_ bad. I was the only person that noticed you were sick," I remind him with a sulking mouth.

His head tilts until his eyes become piercing. "Ah, but that's the problem. You were the only person that _mattered_."

New blood surges back into my cheeks. Edward is awfully nice to look at. I've often found myself feeling woozy just by the way he sometimes gazes back at me. But I am beginning to see that his words can affect me much more. Thank heavens I'm already lying down or I may have blacked out just now.

I huff out a rough sigh and knit my brows at him. "It's not fair that you can say things like that so easily. Do you have some handbook you pluck lines from to try to impress me?"

His mouth moves musingly to the side for a second. "I don't know. Is it working?" he asks, half teasing me.

My lips spread into a smile right as the nurse reappears. A cold ice pack is placed on my forehead and her beady blue eyes examine my face. Edward slides backwards and crosses the room to stand in the corner.

"You're getting some color back into your cheeks, honey," she announces as her white brows rise up.

Yeah. Being flirted with by a boy like Edward will do that to a girl sometimes.

"I'm starting to feel better," I confirm.

I rise up on my elbows and notice that the room no longer spins when I sit up. This gives me a little hope. I continue moving until I my legs dangle from the side of the cot. As I look around the small space we are in, I notice that I am not seeing doubles of everything any longer.

I glance at the nurse and straighten my posture. "Much better. I don't feel faint anymore," I declare happily. My dizzy spells have been known to sometimes last much longer than this. I am very thankful to have gotten out of this mess without passing out completely.

An auburn head of hair twisted up into a bun appears at the opened door. "We got another one coming in, Agnes," informs Ms. Cope worriedly.

Since I'm fine now, I decide to give my cot over to someone who actually needs it. I march up to the nurse and call for her attention. "Thanks, but I don't need this anymore," I say as I hand over my ice pack.

Once it is in her possession, I look around to tell Edward that we can get out of here now. However, right as I am about to form these words, a familiar stench invades my nostrils.

_Blood_.

Wet, dripping, _fresh_ blood.

My entire body twirls around towards the door. I see Mike ushering Lee Stevens into the tiny, cramped room. Lee's fingers are covered in the bright red liquid and it flows freely down his forearm. In almost no time flat, the scent smothers me until I can barely breathe.

A moment later, I am weightless and falling - unable to control my limp body.

My world fades to pitch black.

**00000000000000000000**

A breeze causes one of my strands of hair to tickle the tip of my nose. My eyelids reluctantly pry themselves open. The first thing I see is a scholastic magazine being waved in my face. Evidently, this is the source of that "breeze" I feel. The next thing I spot are two glittering emeralds set into the most worried face I have ever seen.

Edward kneels in front of me, his face at eye level with mine. He pauses fanning me and reaches out with his free hand to tuck the troublesome hair away from my nose.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asks in a sigh.

I briefly look off to the side. I realize that we are no longer in the nurse's office. Edward must have taken me out of there after I fainted and set me into one of the metal chairs of the waiting area.

My pride takes another gigantic hit. Why can't I avoid these types of situations? Why am I plagued with clumsiness and fainting episodes? Why can't I be a normal person for once?

"Sorry. I can't stand the smell of blood. It always does this to me," I mumble while nibbling at my lip.

A lopsided smile transforms his face, eliminating that concerned expression. "Remind me to never cut myself in front of you, please."

A movement from behind him catches my attention. I look across the room and witness Mike walking out of the nurse's office. His hand is wrapped in a makeshift paper towel bandage, it's tip stained a rusty red. My focus next switches to his face. Based on his sour expression, I expect for him to go on ignoring me and leave the front office without uttering a thing. Instead, he surprises me when he comes right up to us.

"You don't look much better than you did in Biology," he points out, his voice sounding coarse and bitter. His scowl further increases when he briefly glances over at Edward. "How long did it take you to get to the nurse?"

My mouth pinches together. If he wants to highlight the fact that I still look like crap, that's fine by me. But for him to hint that Edward is somehow at fault for my condition is where I draw the line.

My eyes glare up at him. "Just keep your hand in your pocket. I would like to stay _conscious_ if you don't mind."

Mike's angry eyes weaken until his mouth forms into a childish pout. At the same time, he slips his hand into the pocket of his jacket. "It's not bleeding anymore," he claims in a much less gruff tone. "So, will you still be going to the beach this weekend?"

To keep myself from rolling my eyes, I allow my lids to close. Just because I fainted today doesn't mean that I'll be bedridden on Saturday. As long as it isn't raining, I plan on going to First Beach like I promised.

"Yeah, I said that I would."

"Good. We're meeting at my parents' store at ten."

"Got it. Ten a.m."

Mike forms a tight-lipped smile and says, "OK then. See you in Gym."

My eyes pop open wide. I forgot _all_ about Gym class. How can I be expected to survive an hour of running around when I just spent the past fifteen minutes or so weaving in and out of consciousness?

"Yeah. Gym," I mumble to Mike as means of a goodbye. He appears to accept it and struts out of the office.

My head slowly turns back to Edward. There's a tiny frown on his face that wasn't there before. He's probably wondering how I'll make it through the rest of the day too.

"I wonder if Coach Clapp will let me stay on the bench today if I show him that I look like Casper the Friendly Ghost," I say aloud.

One of his brows cocks up and he quietly observes me for a short time. His upper body soon moves in until his lips are right at my ear. "Don't worry about _that_. I'm taking you home."

Before I can press for an explanation, he's up and on his feet. He heads straight to the long counter that divides the waiting area from the office workers' desks and leans his elbow against it, his face staring off towards the nurse's office.

Eventually, Ms. Cope wanders back into the front office and notices Edward waiting. She walks up to the counter that separates them wearing a subdued smile. "Yes? What is it, Edward?"

"Bella has Gym next period, but she is still feeling poorly and I think she may need to go home to recuperate. Is there any way for you to excuse her?"

Ms. Cope glances over at me and a look of horror washes over her. That isn't good. I must look worse than I feel.

"Yes. Of course. Let me call up the Chief and he can come and pick her up," she says hurriedly, picking up her phone like it's an emergency.

"I'm afraid he's on duty, Ms. Cope," Edward replies with a solemn head shake. His forehead furrows contemplatively and his long fingers begin tapping on the counter.

The secretary mirrors his facial expression and gently replaces the phone into its cradle. "That's right. I forgot about that," she mutters fretfully.

The two of them remain quiet for a time, each in seemingly deep thought on what should be done with me. Or, more than likely, Edward is just acting like he's clueless as part of some elaborate plan.

Edward's drumming fingers suddenly go silent and flatten against the counter top. His mouth twists to the side and he says with seeming reluctance, "I suppose that I could drive her home since she's unable to do it herself."

Ms. Cope and Edward enter into a staring contest. She looks at him dubiously. He fights back with angel eyes.

It hits me that his strategy worked and he must have won the battle when she looks away first. She pivots around and rummages in a few drawers and cabinets. After finding what she was searching for, she takes up a pen and begins filling out her paperwork.

"I'll send out an excuse for the both of you. You get better soon, Bella," she ends softly when she glances over at me.

Edward saunters back to where I sit, now armed with a small but notably cocky smile attached to his face. Leaning down, he offers me a wink. "We're free," he announces in a low, triumphant timbre.

With great care, I rise from my metal chair and test my legs since I have fainted enough for today to last me a lifetime. I'm pleased when I take note that the room isn't spinning out from underneath me.

He opens the door (as usual) and we are met with light rain as soon as we step outside. Initially, the sight knocks my mood down a few notches. Seeing rain every day for several weeks straight doesn't help much with depression. Yet, as soon as the water hits me, I discover that it is somewhat soothing today. The cool raindrops fall gently upon my cheeks and slide down my chin, washing away my stress. It feels so nice that I tilt my face up, encouraging more to land there. It isn't long before I start to feel human again.

I lower my face once I have had enough of the rain shower. Edward stands to my right in mute observation. I smile over at him, realizing at the same time that I forgot to tell him something important.

"Thanks for that," I say as our feet begin a slow walk. "Gym wouldn't have gone very well for me today if I was dealing with clumsiness and faintness at the same time."

A bemused look in his eyes captures my attention once we reach the edge of the parking lot. He waits until we're nearly at my truck before he speaks.

"Maybe I should switch to seventh period Gym. Then I could just carry you around during the whole class so you would _never_ fall," he replies in faux innocence.

My head angles to the side, my face expressionless as I look up into his now teasing eyes. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

His mouth lifts into a small smirk. "Well... I don't know about you, but I'll certainly always think back to this day fondly."

I twist my mouth to hide my smile and shake my head at him. "You are unbelievable."

His head does a small bow in my direction. "Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

A few giggles bubble up from my throat. He smiles back, probably proud of himself in being able to get me to laugh after having poked fun at my expense.

I dig my keys out from the pocket of my jeans and unlock the truck. Edward stands by the opened door as I climb inside the cab. Once I'm sitting comfortably in the driver's seat, I go to crank the engine.

A large, masculine hand appears out of nowhere and covers my fingers. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't complain if Edward suddenly has the urge to hold hands. However, right now isn't the time. He's keeping me from being able to turn the key.

"What are you doing?" he questions.

I look up and realize that he's hovering over me, his face right above mine. "Going home," I answer as though it should be obvious what I am up to.

His forehead pinches together. "You can't drive in your condition. You could faint while you drive and crash."

My face screws up at him in outrage. I'm not _that_ weak and helpless. "That's ridiculous, Edward. I'm perfectly capable of driving myself home."

But he dismisses what I said with just a head shake. "Scoot over. I'll drive you."

At first, I think he's joking. He likes to tease me about my truck - not drive it himself. Plus, it's hard to imagine him being able to operate this thing. The truck is ancient. There's no fancy features or gadgets to help you navigate. There's no air bags, air conditioning, cruise control, GPS system, seat warmers, or radio that can pick up more than three stations. His car, however, _does_ have all of that.

And speaking of his beloved Volvo...

"What about your car?" I point out. If he drives me home in this, how will he be able to go back to his own house if he leaves his Volvo here?

He let's go of my hand and steps back. "Alice can get it for me after school. Wait here for a moment," he requests. Then he swivels around and runs off in the direction of his car.

The drizzling rain turns progressively harder, the water drops soon pummeling the hood of my truck. I watch Edward's shirt slowly getting wetter as he moves to the rear of his car. He removes a key from his pocket, crouches down, and appears to hide the key somewhere behind the car's bumper.

When I see him jogging back, I move to the passenger side to make room for him. By the time he gets inside of the truck's cab, his head is drenched. He looks like he just got out of the shower. Drops of water cascade down from his head and he dabs his face with the inside of his shirt.

My mouth openly frowns at his appearance. He's going to end up with pneumonia all because he thinks I can't drive myself home.

"You're going through a whole lot of trouble for nothing," I snap at him when he slams the door shut.

He serenely shakes his head. "I have to do this," he insists. He next takes his time in adjusting the mirrors to his liking. After starting the engine, his upper torso twists at the waist to look for cars or passing pedestrians that may be behind us. Once he has the truck backed out of the parking space, he continues with his explanation.

"I told the secretary that I would drive you home. If you were to do it, that would make me a liar. And, possibly an accessory before the fact if you were to crash into someone on the way back home. This is my civic duty."

My eyes roll but I still bark out a laugh. Edward acting like he's worried about being a liar is ludicrous. He used to lie to Jessica almost every day. But Edward making a big deal about little things isn't new. There has been lots of times when I have pricked a finger, burned a knuckle, or stubbed a toe in front of him - which caused him to consistently react as though I needed to be sent to the E.R. for overnight observation. Having him insist to chauffeur me home isn't quite as bad of an outcome as that. I guess I should be thankful.

He drives the truck well for a guy accustomed to luxury vehicles. He takes it easy, not trying to push the truck to go faster than it can go. My mind drifts as we travel down the highway towards my house. Maybe fainting in class is a small price to pay if it means that I can go home sooner. _With Edward_. Honestly, who cares if I just gave the school more to dissect and gossip over? Like what Edward said to me earlier, they will talk about _anything_ \- even if they have to make it up. The truth doesn't matter much to most of the students at Forks High. The only way you can combat the problem is by ignoring them until something newer and more interesting sparks their curiosity.

However, there is one downside. I have agreed to go to the beach at La Push this weekend. There will be _lots_ of people there. Will they still be just as nosy as they were today? Will they bug me the entire time? Will they assault me with questions at every turn? Or, will they be too distracted by the scenery to pay me much mind?

My head shoots up abruptly, startled by something I should have thought about sooner. Eric told me yesterday morning everyone who had pledged to go to First Beach. But, there was one particular name that he never mentioned...

"Are you going to La Push on Saturday?" I say to Edward.

He keeps his eyes focused on the road straight ahead. "I heard some people talking about it."

"But are you going?"

"No one invited me."

My mouth presses down irritably. I really don't understand this place sometimes. Mike and Eric practically begged me to go to the reservation. Word has obviously gotten around about the day trip. So why didn't anyone think to ask Edward, too? Even if they believed that he would just turn them down, they could have at least _asked_ him. It's a miracle that Edward is as well adjusted as he is. The way he gets pushed aside and mistreated sometimes by some of the students is sickening.

"_I'm_ asking you," I counter while eyeing him.

The turn signal audibly blinks as he turns onto my street. He doesn't respond to my invitation until we're almost at my house.

He looks away from the road, his expression serious. "Mike won't like it."

My eyebrow arches incredulously back. "Since when have you worried about what Mike likes or dislikes?"

"Since he expressed his interest in you," he confesses, his voice softer than before.

I suck in my bottom lip and ponder at how I should respond. If before now I had ever been unsure that Edward could have feelings for me, those doubts are gone completely now.

"I don't like him in that way. He's just a friend," I assure him nervously.

Edward huffs out a sharp laugh that doesn't feel as genuine as it should. "I know. But I don't think _he_ knows that."

I breathe out a heavy sigh. What he said is absolutely true. No matter how many times I have tried to hint to him, Mike still hasn't grasped my lack of interest. But I can't allow his ignorance or his prejudice against Edward to interfere with my life.

"Well, he'll have to deal with it then. I want you to come," I urge.

He turns into my driveway and parks the truck in its customary spot in the front yard. We sit quietly for several seconds, the peaceful silence almost feeling strange after hearing my truck's loud engine for so long.

"All right. I'll go," he answers gradually. Our eyes meet and his mouth cocks up at one corner.

The pounding rain almost hurts my exposed skin as we rush up the sidewalk and onto the front porch. I turn on the living room lamps and we move to the back of the house. When I switch on the overhead light in the kitchen, I am instantly met with the vision of a bare, wooden table and realization slowly dawns. Edward only comes to my house to study. And we have no books to _study_ from.

"I left all my stuff in Bio," I groan up to him.

One of his shoulder shrugs relaxedly. "I'll ask Alice to grab them before she leaves school."

My head bobs up and down at his easy answer to our problem. Although I feel better, I am still unsure of what to do. Asking him to sit here in my kitchen doing nothing but stare at the ugly, canary-yellow cabinets doesn't sound like it would be something that he would enjoy. I strain my brain until I come up with something we could do.

"I'll run upstairs and get my copy of _Macbeth_. We could read Act three together?" I propose, my face scrunched together questioningly.

"That sounds like a good idea," he replies, nodding his still damp head.

He pulls out a chair at the table while I go up to my bedroom. I know exactly where the book sits on my bookshelf and I snatch it down. In almost record time, I'm back downstairs and attempting to seat myself at my usual chair across the table from him. But I stop when he points out that since there is only one book, maybe we should sit closer and share it. I'm not going to argue with that idea, so I drag my chair right next to him.

With my shoulder rubbing up against his upper arm, I read aloud from the first page. I've read _Macbeth_ several times. Nothing about the tale is a surprise to me. Yet, once it is Edward's turn to read and I hear his rendition of the Elizabethan play, it feels almost like I've never truly heard the words before.

"Do you find your patience so predominant in your nature that you can let this go?" he growls as Macbeth, his voice gravelly and deep. "Are you so gospell'd to pray for this good man and for his issue, whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave and beggar'd yours for ever?"

I listen rapturously and press him to keep going whenever he tries to let me read again. Like a good sport, he complies. If Edward can make a horrible guy like Macbeth sound _this_ pleasing and desirable, just think of what it would sound like if he were to read the part of a character known for saying beautiful, _romantic_ words.

I wonder if he would think I was weird if I were to hand him my personal copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ and request for him to perform the balcony scene?

Although it _is_ tempting, I stay strong and suppress my urge. If we work out, I'll ask him to read it for me some other time. He's already done enough things for me today.

He's halfway through scene three when I glance at the clock on the wall. It's close to five already. Charlie will be home for dinner soon. Then, Edward will have to leave.

And I'm not ready for that yet.

"Edward?"

His face lifts from its reading position and turns to acknowledge me. "Hmm?"

"Do you-" I falter. I snap my mouth closed for a moment, unhappy with how my request would sound. I shouldn't ask if _he_ wants to stay here longer. He needs to understand that_ I_ want him to stay.

"_Will_ you stay for dinner tonight?" I correct myself.

I was anxious that he might say no, but his smile puts my mind at ease.

"Yes," he says right away.

But that smile soon falls, almost transforming into a frown. "What about your father?" he adds hesitantly.

I want to roll my eyes at how worried he sounds. "You're here all the time. He should be used to you by now."

He cocks his head skeptically, his emerald eyes unsmiling and serious. "Bella. Every time he comes home, he stomps into the kitchen, scowls at me, and asks you if you are OK. The man acts as if I molest you whenever his back is turned."

I'm about to scoff and say that Charlie isn't as bad as that. He isn't one of those crazy, overprotective fathers that like to intimidate his daughter's prospective boyfriend.

However, the memory of how he reacted when he first saw Edward at our kitchen table resurfaces. Charlie pointedly hinted at the fact that he carries a gun. And all we were doing was our homework. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, Charlie _does_ give him weird looks and asks me if I'm OK whenever Edward and I have been by ourselves. Charlie _never_ asks me that question if I was home alone. Maybe Charlie _is_ one of those crazy Dads after all.

So how will he respond when he finds out that Edward and I are more than just friends?

I chew the inside of my mouth and construct a plan. My dad is a simple man at heart. All he wants is a decent meal and a TV that broadcasts ESPN. If there's food in front of him, he usually tolerates even bad news favorably. And since I've made two not-so-great dinners in a row this week, he should be more appreciative if I go all out tonight. With any luck, he won't notice Edward sitting at the table until after he's gotten in a few good bites.

"I'll make one of his favorites tonight to put him in a good mood. Maybe if he smells steaks and potatoes cooking as soon as he steps through the door, he'll be more open to getting to know you," I tell Edward, loving my idea more and more.

He gives a weak smile and agrees to the plan, but I catch him frowning a bit when my back is turned. I can see that he has reservations. But really he shouldn't worry about tonight. Edward charms our teachers all of the time - even the ones that are often in a foul mood. The same can happen with Charlie. I just need for Charlie to turn off his cop mode for a few minutes and Edward can work his magic on him, too.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Did you know that every time you read a fanfic story and don't leave a review, a writer cries? *sniff***

**Next**** Chapter\- Edward and Bella vs. Charlie at the dinner table. Bella gets an unwanted phone call. And she notices something...peculiar about Edward.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	17. Love Is A Battlefield

**Chapter 17- Love Is A Battlefield**

**March 3, 2005**

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I'm in the pantry trying to locate seasoning for the steaks I plan to cook when I hear Edward's cellphone chime in his pocket. When I return to the kitchen, I catch him rising from his chair at the table. He announces that his car has been dropped off outside and the things that I abandoned in Biology class are there, too. I ask if Alice wants to come in, but he says that she's already been picked up by the other Cullens and they're all long gone.

While I busy myself with heating up the gas burner of the stove, he goes to retrieve my things. Once his task is complete, he ambles up to me and leans his lower back against the counter, attentively watching as I drop the steaks into the sizzling skillet.

"Need any help?" he offers.

My head pops up to meet his eye. "You know how to cook?"

"Unfortunately, no," he answers in a soft chuckle. "Esme is in charge of the kitchen and prefers to do most of the cooking herself. And as for my mother and our cook Martha back in Chicago, they held on to the belief that only women and a select few men were worthy enough of possessing _that_ particular skillset. However, _I am_ well adept at washing, peeling, cutting, and smashing whatever you may need. That's all they would allow me to do," he ends with a cheeky smirk.

I put him on salad making duty while I man the oven. By the time I hear the front door knob rattling in the living room signalling my dad's entrance, dinner is almost ready. Edward and I are resting at the table when Charlie marches into the kitchen. Right away his chocolate brown eyes land on Edward and turn steely for a split second before reverting back to normal.

"Hey, Bells. Something smells good," he comments. He takes another brief but pointed glance at Edward and his brow arches up questioningly at me. "I take it that you're not having any problems?" he openly hints.

I release a sigh and shoot him an annoyed glare. Does it _look_ like Edward is giving me trouble? Charlie makes it sound like Edward is holding me hostage. I'm shocked that he hasn't asked for me to blink twice if I need help.

"Everything is _fine_. Just like it _always_ is, Dad," I cuttingly retort.

"Good evening, Chief Swan," greets Edward. His lips curve up into the type of smile that puts most people either at ease or into a swoon.

It does neither to Charlie. He presents a curmudgeonly frown that would have made Ebenezer Scrooge proud. "Thanks," he grunts sharply, all while watching Edward with eyes of stone.

_Wow_. What a crappy way to greet someone. Charlie can't even say "hi" to Edward. A primitive caveman ten thousand years ago would have come across as being more friendly than the police chief of Forks, Washington. Maybe getting him to like Edward isn't going to be as simple as I had thought.

I loudly clear my throat to break the tension that has settled into the kitchen. "Guess what? I'm making steaks tonight," I announce in an upbeat tone, hopeful that the news will soften my dad's gruff mood.

His forehead lifts in pleasant surprise. The word _steaks_ brightens his whole outlook on life. "That sounds great, but isn't tonight usually leftover night?"

I can't inform him that I'm trying to manipulate his emotions just so that I can have a boy at our dinner table tonight. So, I try to sound easy-breezy when I give him my prepared explanation.

"Yeah. It is. But I decided to do something different for a change. Eating fish again didn't sound very appetizing."

He readily accepts my answer, not suspecting a thing. There's a small but clearly happy smile peeking out from underneath his thick, brown mustache. I don't think he could look this content even if I told him that he won the lottery. The man sure does love his red meat.

I come to the conclusion that it's now or never. Charlie is in as good of a mood as he'll ever be. It's time to let him know that things are going to change around here.

"And-Edward's-eating-with-us, too," I add without pausing for breath.

The smile he had breaks apart and his entire face morphs into alarm. "What did you just say?"

"Oh... You know. Edward's going to have dinner with us tonight," I explain nonchalantly. Then, hardening my eyes in challenge, I add, "That's fine with you, _isn't it?_"

We enter a battle of wills, each of us stubbornly staring down the other. Charlie can do one of two things right now. A) He can be open-minded and accept that Edward will be dining with us. Or, B) He can make a scene that will humiliate me forever and order Edward to leave the house.

But, if Charlie knows me at all, he will understand that I will not be pleased if he chooses B. _ I will_ _retaliate_. His beloved salt shaker will be exiled from the kitchen for the foreseeable future. He will forget the taste of meat when I feed him nothing but vegetables and - heaven forbid - _tofu_. I swear that Bella Swan will not fight pretty when it comes to this.

Roughly ten seconds into the unspoken war between us, Charlie's shoulders droop in defeat. "I guess it's OK," he murmurs, a visible pout jutting out from under his mustache. As is his habit, he then tromps out of the kitchen to go watch ESPN until it's time to eat. Although he can't help but throw in a grumbled, "Not that anyone bothered to ask me."

I ignore the jab and shout to his retreating figure, "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

My gaze temporarily falls to the dinner table as I take stock of our encounter. I'm kind of surprised that he caved so easily. I had prepared myself for more resistance on his part, but thankfully that did not happen. I guess he saw my threats to his diet burning in my eyes and couldn't risk angering me.

However, as he walks down the hall that leads to the living room, I catch sight of a bulge on his hip that reminds me of something important.

I cup my hand around my mouth and yell, "And don't forget to hang up the gun."

Charlie answers in a disgruntled caveman grunt, but I do see him remove the holster from his waist to put away. Although he is a honest and fair cop that hasn't fired his service revolver in many years, I am a firm believer in never taking chances when it comes to the lives of bronze-haired dreamboats who sit in my kitchen.

Once my dad is gone, I take a look at Edward. He is no longer politely smiling like he was earlier. There's a look of profound concern haunting his face. I don't like seeing him this way, so I bust out an encouraging grin to relieve his anxiety. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He gives an unconvincing smile in return. "The night's still young," he retorts, using a low, dispirited voice.

I roll my eyes at his pessimism and order him to remain seated while I finish up with everything. Ten minutes zoom by. As soon as the timer goes off to let me know that the baked potatoes are done, I rush around to put all of the food on to the table and announce that dinner is ready.

When Charlie returns to the kitchen, he's still frowning. I had hoped that a few minutes in front of the TV would have loosened him up, but that did not happen. Not even when I place the best cut of steak on his plate does he crack anything near a smile. But I think what's most irritating is that he still has his police uniform on - complete with dangling handcuffs on his belt and a badge pinned to his chest which proudly displays his authority. He had ten whole minutes to change into something more comfortable (and not to mention, less embarrassing for me). I guess he's hoping to make our dinner guest feel like we're at the police station instead of at home.

"How'd your day go, Dad?" I say as a way to introduce a noncontroversial topic to the table. I also pass him the salad bowl to subtly remind him that there are vegetables to eat, too.

"Good," he answers, shrugging his shoulders as he places exactly two lettuce leaves, a tomato slice the size of a quarter, and a sliver of carrot on his plate. "Slow, but good. But that's sometimes a positive thing when it comes to my job." I place a bite of my food into my mouth, and he adds, "And what about yours?"

Hmm. Let's see. In the span of one day I had Edward confirm that he's interested in pursuing a relationship, had hundreds of people gawp at me just because I sat at a table filled with Greek gods and goddesses at lunch, collapsed into a fainting mess a couple of times, and then had Edward all to myself for the remainder of the afternoon - where he unwittingly serenaded me by reading Shakespearian verse.

"I guess you could say that it was interesting," I reply, trying to sound apathetic. There's no way I am going to tell my father what really happened today. Especially that last part. Edward's life is at stake here.

The three of us eat quietly for a short while - although a certain someone at the table is finding ways to annoy me in a passive-aggressive sort of way. Charlie is ignoring everything even remotely healthy on his plate. He knows how much it drives me crazy when he does that. This is most definitely being done on purpose in order to get back at me. So, when he isn't scarfing down his steak like a starving carnivore, he takes bites of only the cheese, butter, and sour cream on his baked potato - taking care to not scoop up even a molecule of the potato itself. I'm surprised he isn't sucking the ranch dressing off the salad and spitting the lettuce back out onto his plate just to spite me.

Although my dad is doing a good job at getting on my nerves, my eyes keep being drawn back to Edward. He is as neat and refined as can be - especially in comparison to Charlie. I become somewhat intrigued by how he chews. His defined jaw rolls and tightens, strains and relaxes. It's oddly riveting. I never knew that watching someone eat their food could be so titillating.

"So, uh, Edward," Charlie begins out of the blue. My head immediately snaps to my left to look at my dad. "I heard that your father was being nominated for some award in Seattle," he says, studiously watching the boy who sits across from him.

Edward carefully places his fork and knife down to take a drink. After he sets his glass back on the table, he gives a response. "Yes, he is. It's for his work at the hospital and volunteering down at the free clinic in his spare time. However, he said that he will not accept it if he were to win. He's a very humble man and dislikes the limelight. He believes that there are many more deserving doctors out there that should be nominated over him."

Charlie's right eyebrow cocks up. "And what do you think?"

"He is, without a doubt, the most deserving man of all. But, like I said, he prefers to work quietly and unobtrusively. I can respect that."

Charlie's mustache twitches a time or two. I can tell that he likes that answer. Score one for Edward.

"He's the best doctor this town has had in years," trails off my dad.

"I can certainly attest to that," Edward nods.

Charlie resumes attacking his steak, gripping his fork and knife in his hands as he cuts it up. "Speaking of careers and the like, have you made any plans for college?" he asks with one eye still lingering on Edward.

I glance at my father suspiciously. He's never asked _me_ that question before.

Edward shakes his head back and forth, his posture perfect. "No. Nothing definite yet."

Charlie's eyes narrow slightly. "Aren't kids your age supposed to be coming to a decision by now?"

I allow my fork to slip from my fingers and land on my plate, creating a nice racket to interrupt the little interrogation session Charlie is conducting. His startled eyes dart away from Edward to gape at me, appearing surprised by the disturbance I caused. He doesn't realize how lucky he is that I didn't throw my fork at _him_. I should have known that he wasn't merely making small talk. Charlie has a plan - to dissect Edward to try to find his faults and criticize him.

"Edward and I are in the same grade and I can assure you that most of us have no clue what college we're going to, Dad. There's plenty of time to figure that out," I remind him in a cold tone of voice. Additionally, I give my darkest stink eye to let him know how furious I am with him.

He gets the message. To placate me, he shoves in a forkful of potato sans its toppings and silently chews. "I guess you're right."

Assuming that he is backing down, I go to eat as well. I shouldn't have done that. As soon as my mouth is full, Charlie tackles Edward with another question.

"So what career field are you considering to go into, Edward?"

For the first time while in Charlie's presence, Edward appears uncomfortable. He squirms in his chair for a moment and coughs into his fist. "To be honest, sir. I'm not sure yet what I would want to do. I'm still looking at my options."

Charlie tilts his chin up into the air and looks down his nose at Edward. "Humph. _I_ knew that I wanted to go into law enforcement by the time I turned _sixteen._"

I harden my glare. He's giving the sugarcoated version of his life. Too bad for him that I know the truth.

Mom may forget where she parks the car when she goes to buy groceries, but she practically has a photographic memory when it comes to her younger years. She has told me all the stories of how she and Charlie struggled to make something of themselves while also caring for an infant (aka, me).

"Didn't Mom tell me that you got a job at the sawmill after you graduated?" I counter.

His head jerks back, astonishment written all over his face. "Yeah, but that was because I needed to save up the money to go to the police academy," he explains with a humbled, contrite frown. Yet, just as quickly, his superior attitude resurfaces and his eyes grow cold again. "I had my priorities straight. I knew where my _passions_ lay," he stresses, jabbing his finger at the table to make his point.

My lips smash together and I gnash my teeth. Edward is the most talented person I have ever met. The way he plays the piano is awe-inspiring. He puts everything into it. I have no doubt that he will one day do something extraordinary with his gift. He just hasn't accepted it yet.

"Well, Edward is passionate, too," I snap.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I said the wrong thing. Charlie takes my innocent comment and twists it to mean something else. His eyes burn in their sockets, stewing in silent fury at Edward.

Meanwhile, my cheeks heat up like red-hot furnaces. Edward and I have barely made it to the hand-holding stage in our relationship. But now, thanks to me, Charlie probably believes that we're having unprotected sex on the kitchen table every afternoon. He is squeezing the knife in his fist extra hard - as though he is tempted to use it on something besides his juicy steak.

Why didn't I just serve soup tonight? He wouldn't be able to attack Edward if all he had was a spoon.

"About _music_, Dad," I emphasize breathlessly, praying that he won't kill my almost, maybe boyfriend. "He is very passionate about the _music_ field."

Gradually, my explanation sinks in. Charlie's grip on his weapon loosens and the look of rage dissipates. But he hasn't lost an ounce of his attitude problem. He goes from murderous anger to derision in the blink of an eye.

"_Wonderful_," he mocks, shaking his head. "What? Is he in a _rock band _or something?"

I sit ramrod straight in my chair, and proudly retort, "No. He plays the piano."

I love the dumbfounded look that flashes behind his dark eyes. "The piano?" he repeats incredulously.

"Yes, sir," Edward answers, looking remarkably calm considering that his life was under threat just thirty seconds ago.

"His mom told me that he plays every day. He's very talented," I elaborate.

Charlie's forehead climbs until his thick eyebrows reach their highest point. "You met _Mrs. Cullen_?" he asks, emphasizing her name.

"Yeah," I confirm with a curt nod. "I did the other day when she gave me some books to borrow."

In a state of mute bewilderment, Charlie picks up his fork and resumes eating. I hope he is digesting the information that I just gave him along with that steak he is consuming. I hadn't planned on telling him about my visit to the Cullen household. But this may be the only way for him to understand how ridiculous he is being. I went to Edward's house and _his_ _family_ treated me with kindness and respect. Then, I invite Edward to stay for dinner at _my house_ where Charlie disparages and intimidates him. Charlie should be ashamed of himself.

"She's a lovely woman," he observes ruminatively.

Yeah. Esme doesn't contemplate attacking _her guests_ with sharp objects before she gets to know them - unlike _some_ people I know.

"The very best," Edward agrees, nodding his head.

While Charlie lapses into quietly chewing his food, I take the opportunity to steer the conversation back to stable ground.

"Have you thought about what your English paper will be about?" I ask Edward.

His lips move to the side for a moment. "I'm considering on making it about how Shakespeare's plays were influenced by his close relationship with the royal court."

"That's a good topic. It makes you wonder how some of his work would have turned out if Queen Elizabeth or King James had never taken notice of him."

"I thought so too... And what about you? Have you begun your paper yet?"

"No, but I've come up with a topic already. I'm going to highlight cases of possible misogyny in his plays."

He chuckles and slides a napkin across his mouth. "You could concentrate on just _The Taming Of The Shrew_ and have all the material you could possibly need. Anything after that would be icing on the cake."

I smile back. "Probably so. Withholding food from a woman with the intention of subduing her I'm-better-than-you attitude doesn't sound very humane - even if it _is_ just fiction."

He and I speak of a few other things related to school before we concentrate on eating again. Edward lifts a forkful of steak to his mouth and shakes his head as he chews. His eyes close temporarily, as if he is savoring the flavor. When they reopen, he finds me watching and visibly relaxes. "This is delicious, Bella. I knew that you were an excellent cook, but I had no idea that you were _this_ good."

A rush of warmth flows into my chest at the compliment. Cooking is one of the few things that I am pretty good at. "Thanks, but I did have a little help cooking all this if I recall correctly," I smile.

One of his dark copper eyebrows rises, and he looks back askance. "I chopped up tomatoes and lettuce. That does not constitute as cooking," he smirks.

"And that _was_ _helpful_. Knives and me don't always get along so well," I remind him. In a giggle, I add, "And, I think I've seen enough blood for one day." In response, he smiles in a way that makes my mouth twitch.

"What's this about blood?" barks Charlie.

My neck audibly cracks when I look in his direction. I was so lost in Edward-land that I had forgotten that Charlie was here.

"Um... Well, we had to do blood typing in Biology today, and I, uh, kinda got a little faint," I summarize reluctantly.

Charlie stares back pokerfaced, his eyes flicking back and forth from Edward to me. I become nervous. Is he going to find a way to blame that on Edward, too?

A few moments later, a guffaw bursts from his mouth and his upper body vibrates with laughter. "I wish I knew why blood does that you, Bells. You don't get it from me," he chuckles with a rare grin.

My head pivots to the side and my lips compress. "I'm glad that you can get good laugh from it. It wasn't exactly one of my most proudest moments," I deadpan.

His gales of laughter die a slow death and his smile subsides. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"It's OK," I breathe out.

"Did you get checked on by the nurse?"

"Yep. Clean bill of health. I was just a little woozy."

Across the table, Edward huffs out a tsk, accompanied by a subtle eye roll.

Charlie's attention instantly locks back on Edward. "I take it that you have a different opinion?" he questions in a coarse tone.

Edward's mouth puckers and he stares off musingly for a moment. "She was more than just a '_little_ _woozy_'," he emphasizes dryly. "She was white as a sheet and passed out twice."

Charlie's forehead furrows and his mouth drops open. "Twice?" he repeats. His focus falls back to me with eyes filled with concern. "How'd you pull that off?"

My own eyes briefly shoot daggers at Edward. My dad doesn't need to know all of the details. Now Charlie will worry himself to death thinking that there's something wrong with me. And there isn't. I just so happen to be freakishly affected by blood. That's all.

"It's not a big deal," I insist.

"Once in class. The other time in the nurse's office," tattles Edward like I'm not here.

"Bella," sighs Charlie, shaking his head sadly at me. Then, knitting his brows, he goes back to questioning Edward. "You were with her?"

Edward's gaze drifts down to the table for a moment before looking Charlie straight on. "I took her to the office."

With this additional news, Charlie stops eating completely and leans back in his chair. He's staring at Edward with unreadable eyes - which worries me a lot since I can usually guess what's going on inside of his head. Thank goodness I made him hang up his service revolver earlier.

"_Anyway_," I nervously blurt as a diversion. "A bunch of us will be going to the beach in La Push this Saturday. It's supposedly going to be sunny that day."

With arms folded in front of him, Charlie stops scrutinizing Edward and acknowledges me. "Oh? Who's all going?"

Thankful that my distraction has worked as planned, I shrug my shoulder. "Um... Mike Newton is organizing it. I can't remember all of the names but I do know a few. Jessica Stanley, Angela Weber, Eric Yorkie, Adam Temple, Lee Stevens, Jennifer something from my Gym class, Lauren Mallory, Ben Cheney, Austin Marks, Brandy Ferguson, Rob Sawyer, Christina Wilkinson, and Jason Schwartz."

"And you, Edward?" asks Charlie, his face expressionless.

"Yes, sir. I'm going too."

Charlie's head nods enigmatically. What that could mean, I have no idea.

Terrified of what he may be planning next, I start babbling like an idiot. I recite the few memories I have left of my childhood trips to La Push as a way to distract his attention. I remind Charlie of how he took me to the beach at six years old, and how I slipped on a rock that resulted in fifteen stitches under my chin. I reminisce about how he caught five huge saltwater fish during a fishing trip one summer while all I got was a piece of floating pine log - which caused me to accidentally fall out of our boat when I went to unhook it. I describe the day that I was giving food to hungry seagulls and one of the birds accidentally flew straight into my face. The black eye it gave me lasted for days.

Since it appears to be occupying Charlie, I keep throwing out the embarrassing stories to keep the limelight off of Edward. I hope he appreciates the sacrifice to my dignity I am making in exchange for his life.

After awhile, my throat goes dry and I am forced to stop talking so that I can get a drink. "How long have you been with the Cullens now, Edward?" Charlie wonders aloud. I eye him with burning suspicion, wondering what his strategy to criticize Edward might be this time.

Edward pauses in his task of mixing the sour cream up in his baked potato and clears his throat. "About nine months, sir."

"I'm sure that it was a big change for you."

A somber smile creeps upon Edward's face. "It certainly was. I was born an only child. Then, my parents both passed away and I was sent here to live with a whole _houseful_ of people. That alone took a bit of getting used to. But, they have all been so accommodating and helpful. It took the sting out of my grief a little. I'll always be grateful to them."

Charlie grunts once with slightly frowning mouth. Several quiet moments pass before he speaks again. "Where are you from originally?"

"Chicago."

Charlie's eyebrows rise a notch. "Big place, Chicago," he murmurs. He goes to absentmindedly scratch his chin stubble, appearing to try to process this new information.

The three of us resume eating wordlessly. I keep my eyes and ears glued on Charlie, waiting for him to say something condescending or offensive about Edward's hometown. But he never does. He appears too lost in his thoughts to criticize Edward at the moment. Although this is a positive outcome, I am now too nervous to speak. I would rather sit here awkwardly eating my dinner than risk accidentally saying something that could send my dad into a hissy fit again.

A couple of minutes into the silence, Edward lifts his face up and unexpectedly says, "What do you think about Beltré signing on with the Mariners?"

Charlie's mouth temporarily pauses mid-bite. "I'm hopeful," he answers slowly. "Any asset we can get away from the Dodgers is a good thing to me."

Edward chuckles one small laugh - like he actually understood what Charlie just said. I'm glad _he_ can, because I have no idea what my dad's talking about.

Charlie casually lifts his glass to his lips and drinks - observing Edward all the while. He then sets the cup back down and says, "I wouldn't have pegged you as a Mariners fan."

Edward displays a tight-lipped smile and shrugs one shoulder. "I follow them. They _are_ the home team, after all. Though they aren't where my loyalties lay."

Charlie sucks in his cheeks, his head cocked to the right. "White Sox?"

"Cubs," grins Edward.

Loud, cackling laughter bursts from Charlie's mouth. "Wow. A Cubs fan? You'd _have_ to be loyal to stick with them, wouldn't you?"

Sitting up taller in his seat, Edward says, "I don't know about that. They _were_ the first team to win the World Series twice in a row."

"And when was that? 1912?" snickers Charlie.

"1908."

Charlie humphs and shakes his head. "That's almost a hundred years, kid. It would take a miracle for them to win after a dry spell like that."

"Stranger things have happened before," Edward counters solemnly.

"I'll tell you what's strange," replies Charlie, waving his fork around in the air. "How did Sammy Sosa wind up with a corked bat? He claimed it was a mistake or accident or whatever, but it makes me suspicious. No wonder the Cubs traded him out."

They begin chatting in a language that I don't understand. My mouth parts open as I listen to these two men say mysterious words like bunt, dinger, and slurve that mean absolutely nothing to me.

What in the hell is happening? Charlie doesn't normally say much at dinner. He prefers to focus on his food as opposed to making small talk. But here he is now, happily yapping for the past couple of minutes. How can he go from being a Grade A jerk to discussing baseball statistics with Edward? Is this a trick? Is he attempting to lull us into a false sense of security before he goes in for another round of unprovoked attacks against Edward's character?

And since when has Edward ever hinted that he cares about baseball? How can he even keep up with what my dad is talking about? Is this some sort of thing you can only comprehend if you're a guy?

Minutes into their conversation that I have tried (and failed) to follow, the phone rings across the kitchen. I rise from my chair to answer it, leaving the two of them free to continue to talk about the infield fly rule. Whatever that means.

"Hello?" I say into the phone pressed at my ear.

_"Hello, Bella,"_ coos a familiar voice.

My eyes fly open wide. My attention focuses back on Edward across the room. Although Charlie goes on chatting, Edward is watching me with a look of curiousness. He doesn't know who waits for me on the other end of the telephone. But I do.

_Jessica_.

I snatch the phone's cradle and drag the long cord to the living room in order to speak privately. I had forgotten all about the fact that she planned to grill me for information about Edward and me tonight. If Jessica is going to attempt to pluck gossipy information, I at least don't want my dad to overhear.

Once I am at a safe distance away from the kitchen, I take a breath to prepare myself. "Hi, Jessica. What's up? Need some help with your homework?" I lamely joke, nibbling nervously on my bottom lip.

"_Don't play games with me. You know why I'm calling,"_ she chides with a hint of annoyance._ "Tell me everything!"_

I slowly lower myself down onto the arm of the couch to sit. "Well... What do you want to know?" I ask cautiously.

"_How about telling me how long this has been going on."_

"How long has _what_ been going on?" I reply as a delaying tactic.

"_You know! You and Edward!"_

"Uhh... A few hours?"

Jessica huffs a cold, scoffing laugh. "_Yeah, right. That's not what **I** heard."_

"What do you mean?"

"_Well, what **I** heard is that you two have been sneaking around for months, trying to keep the fact that you're dating a secret. How could you keep something like that from me, Bella? I thought we were friends!"_

My eyes roll so far into the back of my head that it almost hurts. You'd think for a town obsessed with gossip that they could at least get the facts straight. "That isn't true. I've only lived here for a month and a couple of weeks, Jessica. The two of us 'sneaking around for months' isn't possible."

_"So...are you trying to say that you aren't really seeing him then?" _she quizes, using a skeptical inflection.

I am aware that what I say right now will be spread and analyzed by a large portion of the community within a matter of a few hours. I need to take great care in what I say and how I say it. My goal is to give her truthful information which also will not reveal anything private.

"Well...I didn't say _that_. It's...kind of new. We haven't talked about anything yet."

"_But there is **something** to talk about, right? You're more than friends?" _she presses, her voice rising at the end.

"I think so."

"_Oh. My. Gosh!"_ she shrieks. _"I can't believe this! I **knew** something was up with you two when he came to take you to lunch. What did it feel like?"_

"What did _what_ feel like?"

"_Being able to sit at the Cullen table! What happened? Did they - like - really talk to you and stuff?"_

"Yeah. All of them them talked to me except for Rosalie. She just ate her lunch and listened. They're very nice." And a little eccentric. But I'll keep that to myself.

"_Wow_," she breathes into the phone. "_You know... I kept my eye on you and Edward during the entire lunch hour today. And you know what, Bella? He couldn't stop looking at you! He must be **really** into you. So, I gotta ask - how did you do it?"_

My brows lower confusedly. "What?"

"_You know what I'm asking! What did you do to get his attention?"_

That's a great question. And I have no idea what the answer could be.

"Nothing," I respond honestly.

"_Come on! Throw me a bone or something! Can't you understand that I spent four months of my life trying to attract him and failed with nothing to show for it? I tried **everything** I could think of to spark his interest. I flirted. I spread rumors that I liked him in hopes that he'd initiate something. And when that didn't work, I dropped him hints directly. Nothing worked! You must have done something new to attract him. Aren't I your friend? Y__ou could at least share your strategy with me so that I can learn. Maybe it'll help me with Mike!"_

A tired sigh passes through my lips. "I'm serious, Jess. I didn't do anything special. For the past month, all Edward and I mainly did was make polite chitchat about our schoolwork. It's not like I went after him or anything. I treated him like a friend and just acted like myself. That's it."

"_Wait a minute!_" Jessica shouts. "_Lemme grab my notebook. This is some good stuff! I gotta write this down so that I won't forget."_ I hear banging and rustling papers on her end of the phone. After a few seconds, I assume she is jotting down the information when she says aloud, "_Act smart. Play hard to get... OK. So what else?"_

"I didn't play hard to get," I explain with a frown. "I never expected for _any_ of this to happen. I'm just as surprised as you. All I ever thought he was interested in was maybe having someone to talk to and improving his grades."

_"Oh, my-"_ she wheezes, completely ignoring what I just said. "_W__hy didn't I put two and two together before? You guys supposedly do your homework together - like - **all** of the time! I **knew** that if he would just hang around a girl long enough, he'd lose that shyness that was holding him back! You're freakin' brilliant, Bella! So, what is it that you two **really** do everyday after school, huh? Does he kiss you?! What's it like? And don't leave anything out!"_

"Jessica, " I groan, my eyes squeezed shut. "We haven't made it to that point. We're just seeing how things go for now. OK?"

_"Oh_," she replies, disappointment clearly evident. "_Have you gone out on a date yet?"_

"No."

"_Well...when will you?"_

"I'm not sure," I reply hesitantly. Even if I did know when that might occur, I don't plan to share that information with her. Edward and I would have to worry about having Jessica trailing us the entire night like the paparazzi if she knew a time and place. I'd much rather experience my first date without worrying that our faces will be splashed across the front page of the school newspaper.

"_Hmm_.._. OK. Just let me ask you a couple of things,"_ she says.

Those "couple of things" turns out to be a couple of _dozen_ _things_ \- most of which I wouldn't know anything about unless I lived in the same house as Edward or regularly invaded his personal space. I mainly tell her "I don't know", which only serves to her frustrate her more. And as for the few questions that I _do_ know the answers to, I either give her a one word response with no details or outright lie and claim ignorance. There's just some things that I don't want to share with her - for example, the things he has said that's made me weak in the knees. That's mine alone to enjoy.

Right as she asks if I've been to his house yet, I hear the distant scraping of dining utensils against plates. Suddenly, I am reminded of something very important.

"Edward's all alone with Charlie," I gasp, my eyes bulging. Jessica has had me on the phone for so long that Charlie could have done nearly anything to him. I hope Edward knows self-defense...

"_Huh?_" Jessica grunts.

My face grimaces. I hadn't planned on telling her that Edward was having dinner with us tonight. Though, I guess it's not _that_ big of a secret. His car is parked outside right around dinner time. I'm sure the neighbors are aware of its presence and have already made assumptions. Since the neighborhood watch program doesn't have any crime to monitor, the poor things are reduced to keeping track of the comings and goings of their neighbors. And having guests over piques their curiosity even more. Their monthly meetings usually are nothing more than glorified gossip exchanges.

I brush a stray hair away from my face and carefully explain myself. "Edward...stayed for dinner. And my dad hasn't been as well-behaved as he should. I need to go make sure that everything is all right."

She makes a sound similar to the blast of air which exits from a whale's blowhole. "_You brought him to meet your dad? Whoa. This must be **serious** then."_

"They've already met before," I remind her in a flat tone. Everyone in Forks has met Charlie Swan at least once. And I highly doubt Charlie could ever forget meeting Edward. Finding a semiconscious boy in the wildness is a memory I'm sure he will keep forever.

"_Oh, yeah..." _Jessica mumbles.

_"_Yep. So, umm. I need to go see what's going on with them now."

"_OK. I'll just wait and talk to you some more about this tomorrow then. Bye!"_

My nose crinkles in response. What else could she possibly want to know? I thought she had covered everything.

When I walk back into the kitchen, I try to appear casual as I catch sight of what lies in wait for me. I had worried that I would find Charlie doing something unsavory - like slapping his cuffs on Edward's wrists with the purpose of transferring him to the county jail. However, all I end up seeing is the two of them relaxedly eating and discussing small town politics. Charlie thinks the city council isn't devoting enough resources for road repaving. Edward thinks that new road signs should be installed along Main Street. And I think we've all just entered the Twilight Zone. How else can you explain this? My dad wanted to disembowel Edward only twenty minutes ago. Now they're chit chatting like grannies at a knitting circle. This isn't right.

The only logical theory I can come up with is that this is all an act. Charlie probably did something terrible while I was gone and threatened Edward to keep quiet about it. I'll have to find out the truth before he leaves so I'll know how upset I should be with my dad.

Once dinner has been eaten, Edward wishes Charlie a good night with a firm handshake. My dad grunts out a surprisingly decent goodbye when he grasps Edward's hand. This alone makes me very suspicious. Charlie will barely shake hands with people he has known for years. He isn't exactly known for being touchy-feely with others.

Edward and I walk out into the chilled, nighttime air soon afterwards. I close the front door behind me and the two of us slowly creep down the sidewalk towards his car. Once we're far from the house, I inform him of my earlier phone conversation.

"Jessica asked about everything under the sun, Edward. What did I do to get your attention. What do we do together after school. Have we went on a date. She even asked questions that I wouldn't have thought of in a million years. Where do you buy your clothes. Who cuts your hair... What does your hair smell like - which, I have to admit, was the strangest question of all," I remark in a suppressed giggle.

He gazes back sympathetically, hands stuffed inside his pockets. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't wish Jessica and her unquenchable curiosity on anyone, especially you."

My shoulders slump as I release a sigh. "She only let me off the phone when I accidentally let it slip that I was worried about you being alone in the kitchen with Charlie," I add exhaustedly. Then, recalling the question that has been burning in my mind for the past half hour, my eyebrow cocks up. "Speaking of that, how was he after I left? Was he good?"

His lips tilt up into a smile. "Of course, Bella. He's a very... _understanding_ man. I think he'll be more congenial to me from now on."

I gape up at him, wondering if he's referring to my father or accidentally getting him confused with someone else. Once Charlie Swan makes his mind up about something or someone, it's difficult to change his mind. The only way that Edward could have altered Charlie's opinion of himself this quickly is if he spiked Charlie's drink with mind-altering drugs when I wasn't looking.

"What did you do?" I ask dubiously.

Edward chuckles with bright, dancing eyes. "_Nothing_. I think he understands now that I only have the best of intentions for you." His grin gradually retracts until only one side of his mouth remains lifted. "And, my _intention_ for tomorrow morning is to walk you to your first class - if you don't mind," he finishes in a low timbre.

My mouth spreads into a matching smile, no longer concerned with the mystery of how he managed to sway my stubborn father to his side. "You know for a fact that I don't mind."

"Well, it _is_ always nice to hear," he admits.

His smile soon dims and his expression changes. Magnetic eyes draw me in, the darkness of night not affecting their power in the slightest. They stay fixed upon me as he bends a few degrees at his waist and gallantly sweeps my hand from my side. My breathing halts. I stare at him - too riveted to blink - as firm lips press softly against my knuckles.

"Goodnight, Bella," he murmurs, his warm breath tickling my skin.

I try to swallow down my bedazzlement, hoping that I will be able to speak intelligibly. "Goodnight," I whisper back.

He slowly straightens back up while his hand releases its gentle grip upon my fingers. He takes a step towards his car, unlocks the door, and settles into the driver's seat. I stay glued in place, only a foot or two away from the front bumper. All the while, I can feel his eyes on me, burning with a force that leaves me at the boiling point.

I ordinarily hate the feeling of being watched. It makes me jittery and self-conscious. But it's different somehow with him. The anxiety gets mixed in with the excitement surging through my veins. And now that I know that he feels something for me too, the effect is doubled. So, I don't mind it when _he_ watches me. Actually, I think I am addicted to it now.

He breaks into a slight smile right as he starts his car's engine. The noise helps bring me back to my senses somewhat and I rapidly blink my eyes. I then move onto the sidewalk so that he can drive away without running me over in the process.

I reluctantly turn away from his car and practically float up the sidewalk. My fingertips brush against my knuckles as I relive his goodbye in my thoughts. I can still feel the kiss lingering on my skin, as if he branded his lips there for all of eternity.

A bemused smile overtakes my face. What he did was almost comically chaste, yet it didn't feel that way to me. It felt like so much more. And here I am sounding like one of those prim, virginal heroines from one of those two hundred year old romantic novels I borrowed from the Cullen library the other day. Back then, a mere peck on the hand would have been enough to send a girl's heart aflutter.

My legs promptly go rigid on the sidewalk and immobilize me. Goosebumps erupt from my shoulders all the way down to my wrists. An eerie sensation tingles its way through my entire body.

Is it usual for teenage boys to do that? I may have never dated before, but I've listened to my fair share of dating stories over the years. I remember hearing of goodbye French kisses on front porch steps. I remember hearing about backseat petting under cover of darkness, the fogged up windows hinting at what's going on inside of the vehicle. But I don't recall any of my past female acquaintances ever bragging about how their boyfriend placed a kiss upon their hand and then left without demanding to fondle any of their girlie parts.

I slowly turn my head until I can peek over my shoulder. Edward is still there in his car with its motor running. Thanks to the street lamp, I can make out his silhouette. He's probably holding off on leaving until he sees that I've made it inside of the house unscathed. Just like he always does.

I try to push away the strange feeling that overtook my senses and force myself to continue on walking. I already knew that Edward was different from a lot of the boys I have known in my life. He isn't fascinated with video games to the point where his brain has rotted from misuse. He doesn't try to cop a feel under the guise of giving you a "friendly" hug. So it shouldn't matter that he didn't try to shove his tongue down my throat like the average guy would do. If he wants to limit our interactions to hand kissing before working up to more complicated displays of affection, I'm fine with that. Besides, even if he _had_ tried slipping his tongue in there, I probably wouldn't have known what to do with it. I might have accidentally bit it. Then I would have died. I prefer taking baby steps as opposed to suffering from that shame.

Edward drives away as soon as I shut the front door. I take a couple of steps into the living room and find Charlie sitting in his raggedy recliner, still wearing his police uniform. Although the TV is on and currently showing a hockey match, he isn't watching it. Instead, he is frowning pitifully at me like a toddler who has been caught dunking his mommy's makeup into the toilet.

"I'm sorry," he says in a subdued grumble.

I cross my arms and hold off on saying anything right away. I kind of like seeing him squirm a little considering how he acted earlier this evening. I'm surprised that Edward made it through the meal without bolting for the door.

"You should be," I reply icily. "Are you planning on treating Edward like dirt again in the near future, or was that something he should only expect every so often? You know, just so he'll be aware if he should strap on a bulletproof vest before coming over to visit?"

Charlie's eyes drop to his lap for several beats. "I won't do that again," he pledges in a murmur. Yet, when he raises them back up, I see that they have turned frosty. "It's just-" he continues in a rough growl. "After the way he pestered you that day, I figured he was just some immature _punk _who doesn't understand the word 'no' when a woman rejects him. I wanted to put a little fear into him so that he wouldn't make the same mistake again. And it must have worked, too. You've got to admit that he hasn't bothered you since."

My forehead scrunches down and my folded arms slowly drop to my sides. "Dad, what are talking about? He's never bothered me."

Charlie's bushy eyebrow arches high. "_Really_? You're going to stand there and pretend that you didn't order him once to never call this house again?"

"No, because I don't have to pretend. Edward's never even called here before."

"But you _told_ me it was him," he insists, his face set into an irritated scowl. "He called here and annoyed you one day, but you wouldn't tell me what it was about. Though, I _did_ hear you say 'no' to him several times before you hung up on him." Charlie's mustache wiggles when he adds, "Then, I asked who that was on the phone. You said it was the boy you were in the accident with and told me to not worry about it."

My face falls into my hands. "_Please_ tell me you haven't spent the past month trying to intimidate Edward just because of _that_," I beg from in between my fingers.

"Well...that's not the _only_ reason. I would have made sure that _any_ boy who was planning on being alone with you know that he'd have to deal with _me_ if he screws up... I'll just say that what I overheard was a contributing factor."

My hands slide down my cheeks and I stare tiredly at my father. "It wasn't Edward that called, Dad."

Charlie's eyes squint and his head shifts to the side. "But you said-"

"I know what I said," I interrupt, holding up my palm. "I was talking about _Tyler_ _Crowley_. You know, the boy I was in the car accident with? _Not_ the boy who pulled me out of the path of Tyler's van."

"Tyler Crowley?" he repeats incredulously, his forehead riddled with lines.

"_Yes_. But Tyler wasn't sexually harassing me like you think. He was actually bugging me about paying me back for the damage he caused to the truck. I told him not to worry since the truck was barely dented. But he kept on and on about it. He drove me crazy. It was like he couldn't understand anything I said. It took him _two_ _weeks_ before he finally shut up and left me alone."

Charlie remains quiet for a minute as he absorbs the facts, only his eyelids move as he blinks back. Then, by degrees, he comes back to life.

"His mom called me at the police station once," he begins with pursed lips. "Back a couple of years ago, some of Tyler's friends had made a bet with him to see how many windowsill paint chips he could eat without vomiting. Turns out that it was _a lot_."

My mouth twists to the side. "Well, that explains a few things," I mutter. I wonder how many of Tyler's brain cells passed away that day?

"He spent that night having his stomach pumped," Charlie adds in a reflective tone. A few seconds pass and he begins fidgeting in his recliner. His head then snaps towards the TV and his interest seemingly gets lost in the hockey game. Just as I assume that he's finished talking for the night, he says, "So...is - uh - _Edward_ going to be having dinner here again?"

I rub at my elbow and draw my lip between my teeth. "Probably so," I reply, wondering where this question is leading.

He nods twice and grunts, his eyes still glued to the TV screen. "He's... not as bad as I had thought." Seconds later, Charlie abruptly barks a laugh, shaking his head back and forth. "Though, I can't _believe_ he's a Cubs fan. I think he may be a tad bit _too_ loyal."

I snort and roll my eyes. Charlie Swan doesn't hand out compliments easily. But, the fact that he has apologized _and_ admitted (in a way) that Edward didn't deserve his rudeness is an outcome that I can't complain about. I'll take it.

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**A/N- Reviews are like chocolate chip cookies. Each one is delicious, and I don't mind finding more than one on my plate. ;-)**

**Next Chapter\- A trip to La Push where Bella hears a strange conversation between Edward and two giant men. And Bella meets a vaguely familiar boy who has a BIG mouth.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	18. Leader Of The Pack

**A/N- This is a monster chapter that I should have split into two parts but didn't. 14,705 words. Sorry. Please go eat something before you read. You might need the energy to get through it. I don't want you passing out.**

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**Chapter 18- Leader Of The Pack**

**March 5, 2005**

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My eyes are closed when my subconscious senses a subtle change in my bedroom, luring me out of sleep. I reluctantly lift open one of my eyelids and am met with something that I haven't seen since I left Phoenix well over a month ago.

_Sunlight._

I've been deprived of it for so long that I at first believe that it must be a trick. I do a stereotypical rubbing of my eyes to clear my vision, but I'm pleased to see that I am not hallucinating. The sun really _is_ out this morning. The natural light filters through the lace curtains of the window, making the room brighter than ever before. Mind you, it isn't comparable to the hot, glorious sunshine that Arizona is famous for. The rays of light currently streaming in are much weaker, giving me a pretty good idea of what the sun's heat would feel like if I were living on one of Saturn's moons. But I'm definitely not complaining. This is still a lot nicer than the dishwater-gray clouds and fog that the Olympic Peninsula has been plaguing me with during the last few weeks.

I sit up in my bed and glance at the clock on my nightstand. I have a little over an hour's time to eat breakfast and get dressed before I'll be driving to Newton's Olympic Outfitters. Around two dozen of us are meeting there before we head to the beach in La Push.

Including Edward.

Ordinarily on Saturday mornings, I laze around and don't move a muscle until my stomach growls. But today is different. I can't wait to get out of bed. The fact that I'll be seeing him in an environment that doesn't involve school or homework puts a smile on my face.

I take a long, luxurious shower where I use up most of the hot water. Charlie is already gone for the day, so I have no worries about anyone complaining about my indulgence. Last night he informed me that he would be spending this morning on the banks of a stream, fishing for steelhead until either his bag is filled with them or the weather changes for the worst. The gleam in his eyes told me that only the threat of lightning will drive him away from his favorite pastime.

As I pour out a generous amount of shampoo and scrub my scalp, my mind drifts to the events of yesterday. School was much the same as it was on Thursday. Wherever I happened to look, I was met with the sight of students staring, whispering, or giggling in my direction. As always, I hated the attention and scrutiny, but it didn't feel quite as traumatizing as it had before. It's almost impossible to care about what hundreds of people may be saying when you have Edward to concentrate on. When I met up with him before school, the nosy crowds of people gawking at us was pushed from my thoughts.

Third period was tougher to get through. I found Jessica sitting in her desk and practically salivating at the chance to resume her inquisition. The first question out of her mouth was if Edward had kissed me since the last time we spoke - which was only fifteen hours earlier. The polite "no" I gave her appeared to trouble her more than necessary. Pulling out a notebook, she revealed techniques she had collected over the years which she _swore_ would get any guy in the mood for a make out session. I kind of had the impression that she was showing me the same strategy notebook she had planned to use on Edward if he had only been more cooperative with her - especially since at the top of the page I spotted a doodle that read "J + E" set inside of a heart.

I tried to explain to her that while I appreciated her desire to help, I would prefer it if she would just let Edward and I go at our own pace. My plea went into one of her ears and flew straight out of the other without stopping to deliver the message to her brain. Right afterwards, she whipped out a teen magazine that claimed to have mapped out a guide to capturing the heart of just about any teenage boy. According to the magazine, the secret to seducing them is to quote crude _Family Guy_ jokes in order to show them how relatable you are. I seriously doubt that would impress Edward.

Once I'm done with my morning shower, I dress in a lightweight blue sweater and a comfortable pair of jeans. I shove my wallet into my pocket and rush downstairs to start on breakfast, noting that I have exactly twenty-five minutes left before I'll be late.

After I've finished a bowl of cornflakes, I pluck my keys up from the table in the living room and throw open the front door. The morning's light bathes me in its wondrous warmth. A contented smile settles onto my face once I see what the outside world looks like today. Although the breeze is slightly chilly, the sun's heat has warmed the air enough to have boosted the energy levels of the local wildlife. It feels like spring has arrived. Two robins, a scarlet-red breasted male and a duller colored female, are chirping at each other from different branches of a nearby shrub. A squirrel is happily hopping around the front lawn, occasionally wiggling its bushy tail as it digs out a new sprout growing from the soil.

The normally drab appearance of the neighborhood has been splashed with color. The grass is a shamrock green that speaks of rejuvenation and life. The bark of the tree which stands in the yard is a cinnamon brown that looks wonderfully earthy and warm. And in between the drifting white clouds is the azure blue of the sky - a sight you can only truly appreciate once you've gone weeks without seeing it. Now I understand how the movie version of Dorothy Gale must have felt when she stepped out from her world of gray and into the land of Oz. When Forks tries, it really can look beautiful here. If it wasn't for the occasional cloud passing in front of the morning sun, you could almost say that the weather today is perfect.

But I'm no fool.

I pull my waterproof jacket off of the coat rack and slip it on. Perfect days in Forks are almost unheard of. It's best to always be prepared for rain and disappointment.

It's around five till ten o'clock when I pull into the sporting goods store parking lot. Several vehicles and a large crowd of people are already here. While I don't know everyone by name, I do recognize their faces. Most of the kids are in the same grade as me, though there are a few sophomores and seniors here, too. Almost everyone has gathered into small groups to talk, laugh, and roughhouse until it's time to go to La Push.

The one exception sits off by himself on the hood of his Volvo, dressed in a long-sleeved white polo shirt that I would have considered simple if I had seen it on a clothes hanger. But Edward seems to have a knack for taking ordinary clothes and making them appear more interesting to me. The top two buttons at his collar are left open, forming a V-neck which exposes a few inches of skin. The shirt is fitted to his frame, yet not tight enough that it looks like he's trying to show off. However, I'm still finding it difficult to maneuver through the lot without hitting anyone thanks to him sitting there looking like a teen heartthrob, complete with a tiny, lopsided smile on his face. He and I really need to have a serious discussion concerning the danger he poses when he distracts drivers.

I park the truck in the space next to his car, the two of us barely breaking eye contact the entire time. He slides off the hood of his car and meets me halfway at the tailgate. My eyes drink him in thirstily, feeling like I haven't seen him in weeks even though I just saw him yesterday afternoon. We've barely said hello when a loud voice calls for our attention.

"Hey!" yells Mike across the parking lot, waving his arms above his head. "Everyone who wants to go to La Push needs to get over here!"

Throngs of us converge around two vehicles - a beat-up minivan that has deep scratches running down its sides and a red SUV which appears to be only a few years old. Mike moves to the center of the crowd, standing with his arms akimbo, and looks around at each face before him.

"OK, everybody," he begins in a loud voice. "As you may know, Lee and I have volunteered to drive you today. What I want you to do is divide up into _two_ groups." He holds up two fingers into the air like we're too simpleminded to understand what he just said. "One group's gonna go to First Beach in Lee's van. The _other_ group will get to go with me in my Suburban." He smiles smugly, folding his arms across his chest as he scans the crowd. "Of course, it's up to you which vehicle you want to choose. Though, I'd like to point out that - as an extra treat - anyone who chooses to be in _my_ group will not only have access to the sodas in the ice cooler, but will also have the opportunity to hear about how my great great grandpa Finn Newton once found false teeth inside of a salmon's stomach. You won't _believe_ where you can see those teeth now. So... _Pick your group_!"

Jessica darts to Mike's side, gazing up at him in eager anticipation of being able to ride shotgun in the SUV with him. The other 99% of us line up in front of Lee's van. Apparently stories about antique dentures isn't quite the draw he was hoping for.

The van quickly fills to its maximum capacity, forcing the rest of us to accept a ride in the SUV. Edward and I shuffle along at the very end of the line, quietly chatting to pass the time. Once the girl in front of me squeezes into the seat in the middle row, Mike steps in my way and blocks my entry.

"Whoops. It looks like there's just one empty spot left," he announces, staring at Edward with frigid blue eyes. "I think that since I invited Bella to this in the first place, that _she_ should get the last seat. Sorry, Edward, but I guess you're outta luck. You'll have to follow us in your own car if you still want to go." Although he has apologized, the smirk creeping up his lips tells me that he's anything _but_ sorry.

I told Mike yesterday during English class that I had invited Edward to come with us. I could sense that he wasn't exactly happy by the news but he acted like it would be no problem. There will be plenty of room for everyone, he promised me. Now I see that it was a lie. A lie purposely said to punish Edward for having the audacity of wanting to take part in a group trip.

I glance over my shoulder to gauge Edward's reaction. If Mike's attempt to alienate him from the group is affecting him, he hides it very well. His face is devoid of expression. Gone is the boyish smile he had only moments before.

Mike once claimed that Edward was weird for wanting to keep to himself, and for that reason, he shouldn't be trusted. Yet, when Edward _does_ put more of an effort into being sociable, Mike's always there to make him as uncomfortable as possible. When Mike wants to chitchat at the lunch table, he includes everyone except Edward. When Mike puts together an event, he _invites_ everyone except Edward. Be it because of hatred or jealousy, he tries to push Edward away from everything he can.

Even me.

But he should understand by now that every time he attempts to push Edward away, I move one step closer to the boy with haunting green eyes.

I turn back around, straightening my posture and looking at Mike directly. "I think I'll ride with Edward. It looks a little too claustrophobic for me in your SUV anyway."

Mike loses the smirk and stares at me with a look that hints at his disbelief. That expression further intensifies when I glance behind me and add, "You don't mind, do you, Edward?"

When Edward's eyes meet mine, I'm pleased to see that they have lost some of their strain. "Not at all."

Mike's face burns a lobster red and he immediately storms away. He yanks open the door to his SUV and climbs inside, not giving Edward or me another glance. At the same time, Lee's minivan cranks up and puffs of black smoke cough out from the tailpipe. Edward utters a subdued "let's go" and the two of us hurry across the parking lot to his car.

By the time we're inside of the Volvo, the SUV and minivan are already gone, leaving us to fend for ourselves. But Edward must have been an Indie 500 racecar driver in a former life. The speedometer hits 73 mph as he flies past the few vehicles traveling along the road to the reservation. My eyes bulge from my head. It's been a long time since I've been in a vehicle going above the speed limit. I'm used to trucks that can barely beat a tricycle in a street race.

Before I know it, we're right behind Lee's van. He then reduces his speed to a more appropriate one, and I finally feel that it's safe enough for me to stop digging my fingernails into the passenger seat.

Now that we've joined the convoy, my thoughts return to the injustice that was done to him. Why does Mike only target Edward? How can Mike be so cruel to one person while being friendly with everyone else? And why doesn't anyone let Mike know that his bullying isn't OK?

"I'm sorry," I say once we're well outside of town.

Edward glances away from the road for a moment and makes eye contact. "Don't worry about it," he replies, his voice as soothing as warmed honey.

"I don't understand why he likes to single you out so much."

His mouth cocks up to the side and he snorts as though what I said is funny. "_I _don't know why. I doubt he knows why either. He's behaved this way ever since I first met him. I should be used to his bluster by now, don't you think?"

My shoulders slump and I gaze back at him with a new frown. "You might be used to it, but it doesn't make it fair."

His smile gradually slides away and he goes back to staring straight ahead. "Fairness and my life haven't quite seen eye to eye," he explains in a somber tone. "Mike is just another test of my moral fortitude which makes up my existence."

My teeth draw my bottom lip into my mouth and I watch him for a while. Long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel turn pale from the force they are inflicting upon the unfortunate object. They are the only indication that I can discern that what just happened bothers him.

The realization that Mike has been like this from the very beginning makes me even more upset and confused. What was Edward's crime back then? That he happened to live with a local wealthy family? That he was not only smart but kind as well? That he had the smile of a GQ cover model? What could possibly make Mike hate him to such an extent?

When I moved here, Mike didn't persecute _me_ just because I am the child of the chief of police. Heck, Mike was like the school welcoming committee that first week. He offered to show me around town so that I wouldn't get lost. He told me where you can find the best deal on gasoline. He warned me to never buy food from the convenience store on Water Mill Road because they sell live bait right next to their warming trays. That last bit of advice is something I'll be forever grateful to have been informed of.

"He seemed so nice when I first met him," I say with slightly furrowed brows.

Edward looks over at me with a growing grin. It lights up his eyes and makes my heart beat a little faster. "I'm sure that he was the _epitome_ of hospitality to you. You seem to bring that out of most of the male population of Forks," he replies with a teasing quality to his voice.

My head flops to the side and I stare back at him with slightly squinting eyes. I've never been the type of girl that has legions of boys flocking to her. I'm just me. A plain, ordinary girl with simple tastes.

"You are supposed to be driving, _Edward_, not exaggerating," I deadpan.

He chuckles a deep, rich laugh and tries to keep an eye on me as he continues driving. "I never exaggerate. Do you think that it's _normal_ behavior for Tyler and Eric to fight over the right to just _ask_ you to a school dance? They weren't asking you out of the kindness of their hearts, Bella. I can guarantee you that it was more like extreme eagerness."

I bark out a scoffing laugh and roll my eyes at the memory. I seriously doubt that those two boys had any strong feelings for me. They simply viewed me as something to fight over. I was the new trophy the winner could show off at a dumb school dance. It was like a game to them. If some other girl were to have suddenly moved to Forks last week, I'm sure they would have made themselves look like jackasses in front of her instead of me the other day.

"I'm just the new face. They'll get bored eventually," I explain.

One of Edward's eyebrows arches at me for a moment before he slowly shakes his head back and forth. "You underestimate yourself, Miss Swan," he breathes out softly.

Arriving at First Beach, we step out into the sunlight and I take a glimpse at the surroundings. I haven't been here in what seems like ages but I can see that it's just as beautiful as ever. Smooth pebbles in various shades of black, gray, pink, and white line the beach. Waves crash onto the shore, producing an oddly calming roar. Sea birds hover high above our heads, reminding me of kites floating in the sky. I take a deep breath and inhale the unmistakable scent of the sea. It's not for everyone but I've always enjoyed it.

Looking behind me in search of Edward, I find that his full lips have parted open somewhat. His widening eyes keep shifting from spot to spot as they take everything in. I smile at the sense of wonder exuding from him. I know he mentioned that he's never been here before, but based upon his expression right now, I have a feeling that this may be his first time _ever_ seeing a beach. After all, he _is_ from Chicago. That's pretty far away from any ocean.

It takes him a full minute to notice that I have been watching him. His forehead scrunches together in a questioning kind of way as he stares back.

"First time at the beach, huh?" I ask, still smiling as a gust of wind whips my hair around.

His brows rise up, appearing faintly surprised. "Was it that easy for you to tell?"

"No. More like it was guesswork. I thought by the way you were looking around awestruck at everything and since you're from the Midwest, that maybe you've never seen the ocean before."

He doesn't confirm or deny what I say. But, I do catch one corner of his mouth lifting up a tiny bit.

While people are still attempting to shimmy out of the cramped SUV and minivan, Edward and I move to join a small but growing group of our classmates. Ben Cheney's head whips around when he hears our feet crunching against the gravel. Once he recognizes Edward, he gives a legitimate smile. The two of them politely greet one another, and during their ensuing conversation, Ben casually mentions that he and Eric have been drafted to gather wood for the huge bonfire Mike wants to build. Edward immediately volunteers to help. I try not to smile but I can't help it. It warms my heart a little to see that not everyone treats Edward like a second class citizen.

Soon, the entire group strolls down to the beach and settles down in an area that has huge driftwood logs circling the remains of an old fire. Tyler and a couple of his friends hop over them like frogs, laughing hysterically when one of them miscalculates their jump and falls on his butt. While most of the remaining boys stay upright, a majority of the girls take a seat. I follow their lead and find one that's unoccupied. My fingers rub against the wood, the material as white and smooth as a bone left out in the desert sun.

Edward leaves my side for a few minutes as he helps to collect armloads of driftwood. I occupy myself by watching everyone around me. Angela waves at me from across the log circle, pausing in her conversation with a senior girl that I've never spoken to before. Nearby a small group of boys form an impromptu football game. Soon, their playful banter and laughter can be heard as they run around with the ball.

Due to the sea breeze which occasionally sends out strong gusts, I notice that Jessica has suffered a hair emergency. It's practically standing straight up in the air, giving it the illusion that she just stuck her finger into a light socket. One of the boys laughs and asks if her name is Marge Simpson now. In full panic mode, she flees back to the SUV to borrow Christina's can of hairspray in hopes of taming her wild, curly locks.

I unfortunately spot Lauren standing nearby too. Although she's dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a sweater today instead of her usual wardrobe of crop tops and skirts which barely pass the school's dress code, I take note that she couldn't bear to wear appropriate shoes. It _can't_ be comfortable wobbling around on toothpick heels on a rocky beach.

Every few seconds, she pauses the conversation she is having with her friends for the sole purpose of shooting withering glares and eye rolls in my direction. I see her scowling so often that I'm shocked that she doesn't have wrinkles. If she doesn't watch out she's going to wake up to find that her face resembles a Shar Pei before she even hits twenty-five.

Once a large pile of wood has been stacked, Mike breaks off from a conversation he is having with Lee and begins the task of starting a fire. The spot I chose to sit is only a few feet away from where he currently squats. You couldn't miss me even if you tried. Yet, somehow, Mike manages to block me out. He keeps his concentration devoted entirely to constructing the pieces of wood into a pyramid shape.

Having him completely ignore me like this is unheard of. Ever since we first met, Mike has always reached out to me in some way. He has almost always given a friendly hello along with regaling me with a long-winded story. Even the couple of times when he was angry, he would still acknowledge me in some way. But right now it's as if I no longer exist to him.

Minutes later, the wood is fully ignited, producing strangely beautiful flames of blue and lavender. Mike quietly monitors the fire with crossed arms, his brow hung low. Every so often he tosses in another log and the flames progressively grow higher, producing more heat. Once the fire reaches a few feet into the air, he rises from his crouched position and walks away to join a group of girls sitting on the opposite side of the bonfire.

A pair of long, lean legs suddenly stretch out from the spot next to me. Without needing to look, I know that it's Edward there. I can feel his eyes on me just as sure as if he had reached out to touch the skin of my face. I have confirmation of it when I turn my head a few degrees and find him watching and waiting for me to speak.

"I guess I just lost a friend," I announce in a quiet voice.

His mouth twists and he silently regards me for a few beats of time. "He's just being sullen. I'm sure by Monday all will be forgiven," he reassures me.

Then, a slow, devilish smile appears and he leans in closer. I involuntarily shut my eyes, trying to slow down my quickening pulse. His warm breath tickles my ear as he whispers, "Anyway, his brain can only keep up with one outrage at a time. I'm sure when I anger him again for some inexplicable reason today, that he'll forget that he was _ever_ upset with you."

He backs away and I look up to find his eyes dancing. If truth be told, I want to laugh. Very badly. But I am chewing my lips to keep that from happening because I don't think it would be appropriate. Although I don't approve of Mike's behavior today, I don't want to take part in bashing him either. I don't believe bullying a bully is the right way to deal with a problem.

"Don't be mean, Edward," I order, trying to sound stern. But judging from the smile that has yet to leave his face, I don't think he's buying it.

"Hey guys!" trills a high-pitched voice as Jessica flops down next to me. Her eyes sweep over Edward and then me as thoroughly as any camera, probably searching for signs of hickeys and unbuttoned clothing that she can speculate over.

I can almost hear the exhaustion in Edward's voice when he greets her. As she starts yapping, he grows quiet. His mind and eyes begin to wander, appearing to effectively tune her out. He's never been very keen on listening to her gossip. So, instead of taking part in the conversation, he watches the antics of our classmates.

A couple of minutes into her telling me about a freshman boy who is supposedly an undercover federal agent searching for hidden drug cartels operating within Forks High, she abruptly switches topics.

"So," she begins in a whisper. "Anything new on _your_ end to report?" The way she's excitedly wagging her eyebrows leads me to believe she wants an update on _Operation: Get Edward To Kiss Bella_.

"Nope," I answer simply.

Her mouth turns down into a frown and a look of disgust crosses her face. "Ugh! Bel-lah!" she quietly hisses. "What's taking you so long?"

I take a quick peek to see what Edward is up to. He's currently observing Ben and Angela as they chat twenty feet away. He doesn't look to be listening in to our conversation.

"It's only been two days," I point out to her.

She expells a frustrated sigh. "I know! And that can be a _long_ time when it comes to high school relationships. You've seen Brian Kowalski around school before, right? Well, last year he was the new guy. At first I _totally_ hated his guts. He came off as a smartass, know-it-all and I couldn't take being around him for very long. I changed my mind about him when my car wouldn't start one day. He walked up to me and asked if I needed any help. He fiddled around with those spark plug thingies under the hood and it cranked right up. We got to talking after that and I discovered how nice he was.

"We started dating soon after. I _really_ thought I had met a great guy. He was so attentive to my needs. He brought me daisies when I was feeling low. He walked with me to my classes. He _always_ acted like all he ever wanted was to make me happy, ya know? So you can imagine my shock when I found a note stuck in my locker from him. It said that he didn't love me anymore and explained that he had been coasting through the relationship, hoping that I would break it off first so that _he_ wouldn't have to hurt my feelings."

Jessica squirms in place and presses her lips together for a few moments. "He was such a _coward_. Couldn't even tell me to my _face_ that he wanted out. Then, to top _that_ off, he started dating a girl from Port Angeles only a day later. Can you believe that? And would you like to know how long it took for us to get to that point - from the start of the relationship all the way to the break up, Bella? _Six_ days," she emphasizes. She dips her head down and stares at me solemnly. "So, do you see now? If you don't do something about Edward soon, you may miss out on _everything_. Chances are that he'll move on to someone else before you can blink an eye. _Just like what happened to me_."

I nod my head like I get what she's saying, but I have no intention to change course. Throwing myself at Edward just because Jessica had bad luck with a past boyfriend doesn't seem to be a smart move. Thankfully, she doesn't linger on the topic any longer and switches to other matters to gossip over.

She's halfway into telling me something she overheard yesterday during her History class when she becomes distracted. Mike has drifted closer to this side of the fire again and she has noticed. Unaware of the incident that took place earlier between us, Jessica shrieks his name and flags him over. He steps over a log and takes a seat next to her, warmly greeting her while ignoring me.

It doesn't take long before I feel like the outsider. Whenever Mike gets close to her, Jessica's attention span narrows significantly. She tends to forget about others around her as she flirts and giggles at his stories. I guess placating his ego _would_ take up a lot of your attention.

"Bella?" murmurs Edward on my other side.

I turn to find his eyes glued to where a few girls are gathered across the log circle from us. "I was wondering. Is Angela attending that dance next weekend?" he questions with a lilt to his tone.

My mouth purses as I try to think. I _do_ remember Angela saying a few days ago that she hadn't asked anyone yet. Also, Jessica has made it her life's duty to keep up with who's going with who to that spring dance. I haven't heard her mention anything about Angela going.

Just as I'm about to answer his question, I grasp the significance of what he's asking. A boy wondering if a girl is going to a dance usually indicates some sort of interest on his part. I also realize that it was Angela that he was watching a minute ago. In fact, he's _still_ staring at her. She's currently smiling and chatting to a red-haired girl that she's sitting next to.

The story Jessica shared a few minutes ago creeps back to haunt me. Teenagers can be fickle with their affections. One moment they're playfully teasing you and pulling you in for a kiss. The next they're bored and they find someone else to fawn over. I've seen it happen plenty of times to poor guys and girls in Phoenix. I just never expected for Edward to do it to me.

"I don't think she is," I reply, sucking in my bottom lip. I'm attempting to sound unaffected by his sudden disinterest in me when I add, "She's a very nice person. I like her a lot."

For a few seconds, Edward's brows come together and he silently blinks back. Gradually, the confused expression clears. He leans down to gaze into my eyes - not allowing me to look away. "I'm not asking for _me_, Bella. I already made plans with a _certain girl_ that day, and only a cataclysmic event could ever hope to keep me from being by her side."

"Oh," I breathe out. Relief rushes through me. It's also nice to know that he hasn't forgotten about our trip to Seattle next weekend. But one question remains unanswered. "Then who are you asking _for_?" I ask, putting emphasis on the last word.

His lips form into a slight smile and he laughs just once. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you yet. If luck is on my side, you'll see soon enough."

When he notices my pouting expression, he doesn't hold back his amused chuckles. Although I hate being kept out of the loop, seeing how his face glows when he laughs makes my irritation a bit more bearable.

Not long afterwards, Mike tromps over to a vacant log and climbs on top. He tries whistling though nothing but air is being blown out. Soon he's reduced to shouting in order to catch our attention.

"Since we still have a while to go until lunch, I've decided that there's plenty of time to go check out the tide pools," he loudly proclaims while struggling to keep his balance on the large piece of driftwood. "Anybody that wants to go should follow me."

"Like, how far away is it?" asks a brunette wearing a sleek, turquoise headband. I recognize her as being one of Lauren's friends.

"Almost a quarter of a mile. Most of the walk is down a dirt hiking trail. It should be dry since it hasn't rained today."

The girl's nose crinkles and she shakes her head. "Count me out then. I don't want to ruin my shoes." As she announces this, she points down to the silver colored heels attached to her feet. Wearing pretty shoes that keep you from doing anything fun or useful while on a beach trip must be one of the requirements of joining Lauren's gang of groupies.

While people are dividing up into who wants to go and who wants to stay, Edward leaves the decision entirely up to me. I take several moments to think it over. I'm not a fan of hiking. And walking a quarter of a mile doesn't sound easy to me either. Sitting here by the toasty fire sure does sound nice. However, once I find Lauren's "bitch face" directed at me for the thirtieth time today, it isn't difficult for me to decide that hiking is the lesser of two evils. Besides, seeing the tide pools again should be fun.

Edward and I stick to the very end of the hiking group since Mike is leading. We can still hear him, though. I try to concentrate on staying upright and not tripping over anything instead of listening to his trail tips and tricks.

I'm doing OK until the trail enters a wooded area. That's when problems arise. Although the sun still peeks out from behind the clouds, there isn't enough light to brighten the path very much. I keep finding rocks and roots to trip over that everyone else seems to have no trouble avoiding. Branches from shrubs and bushes come out of nowhere and slap into my face. Pinecones and last autumn's acorns are strewn across the forest floor, and my feet seem determined to find each and every one. I'm slipping and sliding all around like I'm wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.

Did I mention that I _hate_ hiking?

While our classmates pull way ahead, I'm forced to walk at a snail's pace. To his credit, Edward stays close and steps in to save me whenever it appears that I'm about to go down. However, when he suggests toting me bridal style down the rest of the path, his earlier chivalry doesn't save him when I shoot a glare. Cracking jokes at my expense during times like this tends to tick me off.

During one particularly nasty near fall, I flail around to try to keep from face planting. Edward's arm appears right then and I latch onto it. I thank him for the help but I'm admittedly distracted a little bit. I can feel that his muscles are flexed underneath his long-sleeves and my hand doesn't want to detach from his hardened bicep. A part of me wants to shove up the sleeve so I can check it out, though the sane part of me decides that doing something like that would be a little invasive. So I limit myself to holding on to his arm as we slowly shuffle down the dark path. This helps me maintain my balance while also slightly satisfying my fantasies. Sometimes being balance-challenged isn't so bad.

When we finally exit the forested path, I take a look around and decide that the hell we just went through was worth it. Before us is a picturesque curving river where it joins the ocean. During times when the tide is in, the area where our classmates are currently standing and crouching is under water. When the tide is out, sea creatures are left stranded in small pockets of water. There they will remain until the evening tide rolls in and gives them the option of rescue.

We at first intend to join the group and check out the pools that are close by. That plan changes once we overhear a certain, familiar voice bragging to a boy about his expert level fishing prowess. I witness Edward's shoulders slump. He then encourages me to walk a little further so that we can investigate the pools that are too far away for Mike's droning voice to reach. That sounds like a good idea to me. I've endured most of Mike's fishing tales before and I think that I deserve a break.

Soon we're standing in front of a fairly large pool. One of my fists remain firmly clasped onto Edward's arm for both pleasure and safety purposes. Peering in, I see that the seawater is almost crystal clear. Fish ranging from the size of my pinkie nail all the way up to several inches swim around. One fish in particular grabs my attention. Its scales catch and reflect back the sunlight like little mirrors. I am slightly disappointed when the unusual fish darts away, seemingly disappearing into a darker area of the pool.

I crane my neck over the water, scanning for the little creature. Yet before I get the opportunity to begin the search, I feel myself losing my balance. A gasp squeezes past my lips when I am flung forward. In vain I try to tighten my grip on Edward's arm but I can tell that it won't be enough to stop me from falling. As his shirt sleeve slips through my fingers, I try to prepare myself for the sting of the ice cold water that awaits.

The next moment something locks around my midriff and I seemingly freeze in place - no longer falling. The sudden pressure there causes a gush of air to expel from my lungs and I am pulled back into a standing position. With a heart racing, I discover Edward's face near my own, his eyes spread wide in alarm. I glance down to find that it is his other arm that is wrapped around my middle. My breath catches in my throat - half from the shock of what almost happened to me, the other half because it feels oddly intimate standing like this with him when over a dozen people are close by.

Without looking away, he cautiously pulls me along with him as he lowers us down to the pebbled ground. I willingly follow, still somewhat disoriented by what occurred to argue. Once we've safely made it into sitting positions next to the tidal pool, he loosens his hold on me and leans back on his hands. His chest heaves while he stares back.

"Please... _Please_ don't fall into the ocean today. I'm not dressed for an aquatic rescue," he pants with a tinge of exhaustion.

My eyes briefly clamp shut and I attempt to slow my breathing. "I'll see what I can do," I fire back in a whisper.

Once our nerves are calm again, we remain sitting and return to examining the tidal pool. I stare at the creatures in awe, wondering what life must be like for them. Is it better to be stuck in a tiny pool with less of a chance for a predator to harass you, or is the freedom of the ocean preferable despite its numerous dangers?

A few minutes into my study of the sea animals, I'm distracted when I feel Edward's leg bump into me. I turn and spot him pulling his cellphone out from his pants' pocket. Then he quickly dials a number and presses the phone to his ear.

"Hello," he begins, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, everything's fine, Esme... She's fine as well... No, I haven't seen them... Well, I am too... I promised, did I not? Would I ever lie to you?" He chuckles and carelessly drags his fingers through his hair. Pausing for a brief time, he then says, "All right. I will. Goodbye."

Flipping the phone closed, Edward slides it back into his pocket. There's still a trace of the smile left when he glances up at me. That phone call I just heard makes it clear that Esme has become a mother figure to him. The day he drove me to his house it was easy to see how much she cares for her family. She's like the twenty-first century's version of a new and improved June Cleaver. She is a perfect wife to a successful doctor. She is a perfect mother to a house filled with unusually beautiful and intelligent teenagers. She is a perfect interior designer that could probably go into business decorating the apartments and houses of the well-to-do in Seattle. Esme makes most of humankind look like slackers.

"She cares a lot about you," I tell him, even though I'm sure that he's already aware of the fact.

He moves one knee until it's pointed towards the sky and props an arm across its top. "I know. I care about her, too. _All_ of them."

You'd never guess by looking at him that his life was once turned upside down. Losing your parents and being required to move halfway across the country to start over has to be a nightmare. I'm sure being given a very supportive family to lean on during the aftermath had to have been a blessing. But, I've often wondered if given the choice back then, would he have stayed in his hometown instead of relocating to Forks? Does he _still_ sometimes wish that he had stayed?

"Do you miss Chicago?" I blurt out before I can chicken out.

Seemingly without needing to mull it over, he shakes his head. "No. The way it is now - there's nothing in Chicago that I care about anymore." His eyes settle on the tide pool, pausing there for a few seconds. Without warning, they flick back to my face. "What about you? Do you miss Phoenix?"

I breathe in a healthy dose of air and then exhale slowly. Not long ago, all I could think about was escaping Forks and returning to Arizona. I felt so out of place here. Fast forward a few weeks and now I've come to accept that moving was the best decision I have ever made.

"I _used_ to," I emphasize, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I don't miss it now like I first did. I miss my mom, of course. But, _no_, I don't miss Phoenix."

Looking back on my life, Mom was really all that tied me there. Sure, Phoenix is wonderful. It has fantastic weather. Beautiful scenery. It's a metropolis built in a desert paradise. But, truthfully, I would have probably formed an attachment to _any_ place Mom had moved us to - be it Topeka or Sacramento or Atlanta. It wasn't the place that made it home. It was _her_.

I shift my attention back to the tide pool, admiring the sight below me. It is very much like looking into an aquarium. Sea Stars of magenta, tangerine, and mauve slowly crawl and bump into one another, one of which climbs over a rock in its quest to make it to the opposite side of the pool. A fish the size of my hand swims around languidly while the spikes poking out of its back wiggle from its movements. A sea anemone resembling a rare, tropical flower sways at the bottom, its frilly white tentacles snatching food particles from the water.

The only place besides La Push that I have ever seen animals this colorful and fascinating was at an aquarium in California. It's a trip that I haven't thought of in years, yet it remains in my memories as an important, eye-opening experience. Although I was a small child at the time, that particular day taught me that my mom wasn't quite like most of the other adults around me. I became the person she depended on from that day forward, warning her whenever she was on the verge of doing something unwise - like leaving the house with the iron on, or investing her hard earned money in a moose milk farm in Russia. It was a role I served in for more than ten years before Phil came along.

I find myself suddenly speaking aloud, wanting to share this tiny part of my life with Edward. "When I was six, my mother and I traveled to Monterrey to visit my grandmother. It was my first real experience with the ocean," I explain while still watching the fish and invertebrates below. "Mom promised to take me to the aquarium there so I could see what real, live sea creatures looked like. It was even better than what she had promised me. I had never seen so many beautiful, colorful fish. And, we both fell in love with the sea otter display. I didn't want to leave. They looked so sweet and playful."

When I smile, I notice that Edward's lips do the same. His positive response encourages me to continue on with my story. "I don't know how long I stood there watching them, but eventually I realized that my mom wasn't around. I knew that she wouldn't have gone far without me, so I began searching for her. It only took a couple of minutes. And, thankfully so, because she was holding the hand of a child she obviously thought was me. He was blonde and at least a half a foot shorter." My face turns up into a sly grin, picturing the astonished look on Mom's face that day when she discovered her mistake. "But, in her defense, we _were_ both wearing similar jackets."

Edward's soft chuckles bounces off the rocks, sounding like the strumming of a tuned acoustic guitar. "I look forward to meeting her one day. She sounds like a very special lady."

"She is," I confirm without first grasping the enormity of what he said. Though, as it sinks in, I'm slightly startled to realize that he is insinuating that he _will_ meet her one day. As in, he thinks he'll still be hanging around me long enough for that to happen. And even more surprising, he looks _forward_ to it. That's great news to hear because he may get a visit from her whether he likes it or not.

Ever since Mom heard about him coming over nearly every afternoon, she's been flooding my inbox with emails. She's been begging for updates almost daily. I've been putting her off by telling her that I haven't had the time to sit down and type up a long explanation, but I know she will eventually put her foot down and demand answers. Additionally, she writes that if I don't send her a picture of him soon, she will be jumping on a plane and showing up on Charlie's doorstep one afternoon when Edward and I are at home studying.

"She wants to meet you, too," I admit nervously, my voice barely audible.

His posture perks up and his dark bronze eyebrows slightly raise. "You mentioned me to her before?"

Oh, boy. If he only knew...

"Yes. You don't mind, do you?"

The faintly surprised expression on his face vanishes. "Of course not. I'm _glad_ that you did," he emphasizes. A soft, crooked smile appears and he leans closer. "My family likes you, you know."

Those perfect people that make Mary Poppins look like a failure actually _like_ me? How is that even possible? All Esme and Carlisle have seen of me was that day I borrowed those books. I was a nervous, trembling wreck the entire time. Then, when Edward began playing the piano, I lost the ability to speak and blink. I made an idiot of myself in front of his adopted parents and siblings. How could they like someone that did _that_?

"They do?" I question, scrunching my forehead.

His face illuminates into a grin that's brighter than the wanly shining sun. "How could they not? Everyday after I come home, Esme interrogates me about what you like and what you dislike. I think she's planning on dragging you and your father to our house for dinner sometime soon, too. So, be prepared."

My mouth lifts into a smile just as I hear a crunching noise behind me. I peek over my shoulder and see Mike leading a procession of people back to the beach. I find myself instantly frowning. I guess it's time to leave and eat lunch - which also means that I will be required to stumble down the hiking trail once again. I hadn't realized that I would have to go through _that_ hell so soon.

Edward must spot them leaving too because he pops up into a standing position, takes a moment to stretch his arms above his head, and then holds his hand out for me to take. I grab on to it and he pulls me up alongside of him.

The journey back to the beach isn't quite as terrible of an ordeal as it was earlier. We take our time walking the path, not minding that the others are getting well ahead of us. Whenever I am about to teeter over, his arm shoots out to steady me while I make sure to keep a hand on him at all times. Now that I am aware that the secret to hiking is to always have a sturdy boy to hang on to, I get the appeal.

By the time we make it to the open air of the beach, I notice that the sun is hiding behind a blanket of clouds. The loss of sunlight cools the temperature of the area, requiring me to zip up my jacket. I'm very relieved to find that the bonfire is still going strong. Our friends and classmates are crowded around its flames and digging into their lunch of sandwiches and cans of cheap soda.

As Edward and I get closer, I see that several new faces have joined our group. We take a seat on an unoccupied piece of driftwood and Eric hands us our lunch, who then loudly introduces us to the La Push kids. I shyly wave at some of them while Edward just gives a simple head nod of acknowledgement, his posture suddenly stiff. Several of the La Push kids say hello and exchange friendly smiles.

While I'm eating my sandwich, Tyler chats to one of the new girls and I casually watch them interact. With long, black hair the color of obsidian and her coy smile, she is undeniably pretty. Tyler's eyes grow big and dopey, appearing as though he just got shot by Cupid's arrow. I hide my smile when I overhear him boast that he once won a pie eating contest at the county fair. To demonstrate his skills, he stuffs an entire bologna sandwich into his mouth and tries to eat it in one go. Thankfully, one of the seniors in our group steps in and performs the heimlich maneuver before he turns blue.

The sound of rustling fabric nearby causes my head snap to my left. For a second, all I can see is a barrel-chest wearing a thin cotton t-shirt on this chilly day. My eyes travel up and up in search of the stranger's face until my head flops back. The man standing there is far and away the tallest person I have ever seen. It feels like I am looking up at the top of a tree. If he only possessed a bit more hair he could find work as a Chewbacca impersonator.

Speaking of his hair, it's dark and cropped short. This is odd because most of the other La Push boys wear theirs much longer. They seem much nicer than this guy, too. With arms folded across his bulging pecs, the stranger stares down at us with a hard, unsmiling expression.

Standing to his right is another man not quite as tall, yet he is still very muscular compared to your average person. But, unlike the huge man, this guy's face is downright menacing. There's a nasty sneer there that's being directed at Edward. He appears even less friendly than the giant.

"I never expected to see you here," the taller man says with a voice like the Jolly Green Giant's.

Edward has stopped eating his sandwich and quickly swallows what is in his mouth, his eyes already locked onto the man's face. "Yes, well... Under normal circumstances, this would be about the time when I would say it's a pleasure to see you again, but I'm afraid that I cannot truthfully say that in this instance."

The man barks a laugh but his eyes remain unamused. "I'm not your enemy," he counters.

Edward flashes a condescending smile. "Oh, I know. I've never considered you as anything more than a pain in my neck. The word _enemy_ gives you more credit than I can give you."

The other man's thick brow ridge collides when he glowers down at us. "You talk to Sam with some respect."

A bronze brow lifts and Edward studies the guy for a moment. "I give my respect where it is _due_," he stresses, his tone calm and unflinching.

The second man's eyes narrow and his nostrils flare like an irritated bull's. Then turning his focus on to the giant named Sam, he barks, "This guy is a piece of work. I _knew_ he wasn't worth the trouble."

"_Finally_. Something we can _both_ agree upon," Edward fires back, nodding his head up and down.

Sam stares back mutely for a few beats. His lips pucker ruminatively as he scans the area immediately around us. "I see that you've been enjoying yourself today," he remarks.

Edward's eyes briefly hold the gaze of the second stranger's face. "It _was_ wonderful. But, funnily enough, I don't feel quite as secure now as I had been."

The second man's gigantic hands ball up into hardened fists, soon turning white with strain. In seconds his body vibrates, appearing like a volcano readying itself to erupt.

Edward's body instantly tenses and he drops his half-eaten sandwich onto the ground. Without looking away from the shaking man, he grabs me around the elbow and secures a firm grip. My heart pounds in my chest, fueled partly by the sudden stress I feel pouring from him.

The man grinds his teeth and glares back with feral eyes. "You're a lot safer here than you would ever be at _your_ house," he growls.

Sam's arms fall to his sides and he whips around to face the enraged man. "_Paul_. Go cool off," he instructs, his mouth sloped into a deep frown.

Sam's companion immediately diverts his eyes to the ground and nods his head. Although his shoulders are only slightly shaking now, I see that his hands are still fisted at his sides. Without another word, Paul turns around and stomps towards a dirt path that leads to a small group of houses.

Edward's grip on my arm gradually loosens once the guy is a good distance way. I temporarily close my eyes and try to breathe through my nose in hopes of decreasing my accelerated heart rate. When my eyes reopen, I take a good look around and notice that most of our classmates are either talking amongst themselves or preparing to return to the tide pools. I'm shocked to discover that no one in our group seems to have noticed the heated exchange that occurred right under their noses.

Edward shoots up from the driftwood log with his square jaw locked tight. "I need to speak with you privately, Sam," he demands. Sam dips his head in agreement and backs up a few paces. Before the two of them leave, Edward looks down at me and the fire in his eyes briefly extinguishes. "Excuse me for a moment, please. I'll be right back," he softly requests.

A jolt of fear stuns me and my heart starts pounding again. I don't want him to go off by himself with this guy. Even though Sam appears in better control of his temper than that Paul person, I still don't trust him completely. There's a part of me that wants to grab on to Edward's shirt and tug him back down with me. But the determined look on his face seems to plead for me to understand that this is something that he has to do. So, I reluctantly nod my head and allow him to walk away.

I watch worriedly as they march up the beach while I mull over what just happened. What's going on? The conversation they had in front of me made no sense. How does Edward know those two giants? And why would that Paul guy even bring up Edward's house and insinuate that it isn't safe?

The further away they go, the more pressure my teeth exert on my bottom lip. Just as I am wondering how far they plan to go, a boy plops down right in my field of view and takes the seat Edward just left behind without asking.

The boy is one of the kids who lives on the reservation. His long, dark hair hangs down below his shoulders, and the warm smile that he wears would be a welcome sight under normal circumstances. But after what I just witnessed between Edward and those two giants, it certainly isn't helping my anxiety any. Nor my annoyance. He's kind of blocking my view of what's going on...

"Long time, no see, Bella," the boy says casually.

My forehead creases and I blink back at him dumbly. He flashes a white-toothed grin, slaps his knee, and brays a laugh. "Excuse me?" I ask with mounting confusion.

"Sorry. I'm just jerking your chain," he jokes. He holds out his hand until I shake it. "I'm Jacob. I'm a couple of years younger than you are so you probably won't remember _me. _But I bet you know my dad and sisters. We're the Blacks. My dad's Billy."

The names sparks something inside of me. "My dad bought my truck from him," I murmur. Jacob confirms my statement by nodding his head.

Though my memory is fuzzy when it comes to my past trips to Forks, I do vaguely remember Billy and his twin daughters. Charlie and Billy have been friends since before I was born. A few years ago he lost his wife in a terrible car accident which also paralysed him from the waist down.

Each summer during my childhood, Charlie would drive elementary age me to La Push for a day of fun playing with the twins while he talked sports with Billy. Well, he had _hoped_ I would have fun playing with them. In reality, I was painfully shy back then and had trouble speaking when around new people. This made it difficult for me to make friends. I later found out that the twins had incorrectly assumed that I couldn't speak English since I was too nervous to talk. No wonder they usually only communicated with me by using body language and hand signs. At the time I thought that they just liked pretending to be mimes. The three of us would usually limit our interactions to building sandcastles and walking in the waves until it was time for Charlie and me to return home.

I bend forward until Jacob is no longer blocking my view of Edward. He and Sam keep on walking up the beach and don't stop until they are both far away from the bonfire.

"Um, Jacob?" I begin hesitantly. "Do you know that big guy that's talking to my - uh - _friend_ over there?"

Jacob checks where I am pointing and the smile on his face slackens. "Yeah. That's Sam. He thinks he's '_the_ _protector_' of La Push." He rolls his eyes to the sky and snorts derisively. "He's a real _asshole_ is what he is. All he does is roam the Rez and try to order people around, telling us not to leave after dark and stupid stuff like that.

"Then, a couple of months ago, I noticed that my friends Paul and Jared disappeared for a few weeks. My dad said that they came down with pneumonia but would be OK once the sickness passed. Well, when they came back, they were acting just like _Sam_. They don't wanna hang out with us anymore. They shoot you down when you try to invite 'em to play a video game. They skip school _a lot_ more now. All they ever want to do is tag along wherever Sam goes, playing _Follow The Leader_. And they'll do whatever he orders - like they think he's a mafia boss or something. One time I heard that Jared took his girlfriend to that steakhouse in Forks, and in the middle of dinner, Sam called to tell him to drop everything and come straight back to the Rez. And he did! I'm telling ya - it's like he's running a cult. _He's_ Marilyn Manson while _they're_ his devoted followers."

"I think you mean Charles Manson," I correct, glancing back and forth between him and the distant bronze-haired boy.

Jacob's face winces slightly, noticeably embarrassed. "Oh. Yeah, that's right." Pausing to snatch up a pebble, he plays with it absentmindedly as he continues to speak. "Me and my friends tried bringing it to the attention of the Tribe Elders of what was going on, but they didn't see any problem with it. They said that Sam is-" Jacob lowers his voice into a deep rasp and grumbles mockingly, "_An exemplary role model for the youth of the Quileute tribe that deserves our full support." _Throwing the rock into the fire, he shakes his head and stares into the purple and blue flames.

My eyes have barely left Edward during Jacob's story. More worry surfaces within me when I notice Sam glaring down at him. Despite the fact that Edward easily hits over six foot two, Sam still towers above him. But that doesn't appear to intimidate Edward. I see him visibly upset, waving his arms around as he speaks. I'm terrified that he's going to say something to anger Sam and the two of them are going to start brawling right there.

"He isn't - umm - _crazy_ or anything, is he?" I question anxiously with my eye on Sam.

Jacobs snickers and scratches the tip of his nose. "It depends on what your definition of _crazy_ is. Is he crazy enough to rob a bank and hold people hostage? I don't think so. Is he crazy enough to booby trap his front yard to keep invisible boogie men from getting to his house? _Yeah_. Most definitely."

I go back to monitoring Sam, searching for signs that he will attack. Edward has stopped arguing and looks my way for several beats before the giant man reclaims his attention.

"Do you think he's crazy enough to hurt Edward?"

"_Nah_. Edward should be fine. Sam's too obsessed with him to do anything like that. Actually, I'm kinda glad to see that he's putting Sam through a little bit of hell. If_ I_ talked back like that, Sam would probably put a hole through my face," he laughs.

My eyes fly back to Jacob. "Obsessed?" I repeat.

"Sure. My dad and the rest of the Elders are obsessed with him too."

"Why?"

Jacob's hand rises to rub the back of his neck and his mouth moves uncertainly to the side. "It sounds kinda dumb..."

Sensing his hesitation, I force my lips into a hopefully friendly smile. "I doubt that. I'm sure it's very.. interesting," I urge encouragingly.

His mocha brown eyes glaze over and a funny, half-smile appears out of nowhere. "Yeah," he agrees, clearing his throat. "It _is_ interesting. You see, uh, for the first couple of months after Edward moved here, all I heard around my house was his name. It was _really_ annoying." I nod and pretend like I understand what he is saying even though I don't. "Sam and some of the Tribe Elders tried to think up ways to get him to come to La Push. My dad was constantly trying to get me to call Edward's house and convince him to come stay with us. I told him there's no way I'm gonna do that. I didn't want to look insane, you know? I met the guy exactly _one time. _And Dad thought that I could talk him into giving up a _mansion_ in exchange for living in a three bedroom house with paint peeling off the sides? I mean, we don't even have cable! So, yeah. That _ain't_ gonna happen," he snorts.

"Billy wanted Edward to live here?" I repeat with knitted brows. It almost sounds like they want to recruit him into Sam's gang. But why?

"That's the funny thing about it, Bella. Dad doesn't care _where_ Edward lives as long as it's not with the Cullens."

"Why is that? I don't understand."

"Well, my dad has changed since you last saw him. He's paranoid. Delusional. You could say that he's _almost_ as crazy as Sam. Dad and Sam have been going around telling everybody on the Rez to stay away from the Cullens. Now he's got half the population scared to death of 'em. It's crazy. Whenever we're in town and he spots one of them - even that tiny one that's barely taller than a kindergartner - Dad practically has a hemorrhage until I can turn the car around and drive us home."

Looking off into the distance, I'm relieved to find Edward strolling back towards the bonfire, leaving Sam behind to watch the ocean's waves. Edward's hands are thrust deep in his pockets, his face brooding as the wind rustles his hair.

At the same time, Jacob frowns when he adds, "It's gotten so bad that Dad is losing some of his friends. One time a few months back, I heard my old man trying to convince _your_ dad to use his power as police chief to get Edward out of the Cullen house, saying that his health and welfare were at risk. Charlie didn't believe him and said that since there was no evidence to back up the claim, he couldn't do anything. Then, around a month ago, Dad must have said something _really_ bad about them to Charlie and it didn't go over so well. They got into a _huge_ fight. Charlie hasn't been back to the house since it happened."

"That's sad to hear," I say with a frown.

"Yep. Dad and Charlie have been friends forever. But I'm sure they'll make up eventually."

Just as I am poised to ask why his dad seems to hate the Cullens so much, Jacob glances to his left and notices Edward only a couple of dozen feet away. Without speaking, he stands and backs up enough to allow Edward to sit down beside me again.

While Edward carefully reseats himself, Jacob chirps, "Hey, Edward."

In response, Edward stares for a few beats longer than usual. "Hello," he replies, using an uncertain, bewildered inflection.

Jacob's smile spreads a little wider. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Edward's head cocks to the side and his eyelids half-shut. "I remember you. I just don't _remember_ where I remember you," he remarks drolly.

"The Thriftway back last summer. You met my dad, too."

"Billy Black," Edward murmurs while he studies the boy in front of him. "And Joseph?"

"Jacob," the boy corrects in a laugh. "But don't worry about it. I forgot your name too until your friends reminded me of it."

Wetting his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, Edward politely asks, "Is your father doing well?"

Jacob chuckles and shifts his weight to his other leg. "He's good. Crazy as a hornet's nest, but good."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"My dad bought my truck off of Billy," I admit.

His eyes open slightly larger than before. "Really? I wasn't aware that they knew each other."

A short burst of laughter vibrates our eardrums. "Everyone knows each other here," Jacob grins.

"Very true," slowly nods Edward.

A strong gust of wind flies past us, blowing my hair all around. One strand lands on my face and tickles my nose until I shove it out of my way. "My dad and Billy have known each other for years," I explain to Edward. "I used to come here to play with Jacob's sisters when I visited Forks during summer break."

For the first time since Sam and Paul came and ruined the relaxed atmosphere, a small but adorable smile adorns Edward's face. "You didn't fall in the ocean while you were playing with them, did you?"

My back straightens warily. "I don't remember."

A mischievous gleam in his eyes accompanies his smile. "Oh, but I think that you _do_," he purrs. "Isn't there a picture of you on your mantel that shows you being pulled out from the surf by another girl with long, raven-black hair?"

My mouth compresses with annoyance at his question. His knowledge of that incident can only mean one thing. _Edward broke a house rule_. I only gave him two to follow. One, always wipe your feet before you step into the house. And two, keep at least twenty feet away from my gallery of shame that my father insists in showing off in the living room. Pictures of me from birth all the way up to the present decorates the area. I still don't understand why Charlie enjoys seeing me in all of my past awkward phases. It's like looking at a Halloween display 365 days a year.

"I told you not to look at those things," I snap with eyes narrowed.

"I can't help it. They are all so mesmerizing," he teases, his tone sounding dreamy.

This _almost_ gets me to laugh, but I stay strong since I now have a plan to take revenge. "Just wait. I'll be sure to ask Esme and your sister to spill every embarrassing moment of your life to me the next time that I see them. _Then_ you'll be sorry for disobeying my order."

He shrugs his shoulders and keeps the smile firmly in place. "They have only known me for a few months, so those humiliating stories about me wouldn't last very long. But I'll tell you what - I'll try to recall them all myself if that would make you happy."

"Deal. And I want _all_ the details. No slacking," I smile.

He places a stiffened hand at his forehead and salutes me like I'm a General. "Your wish, my command," he agrees.

A loud, coughing noise pierces the bubble Edward and I have inadvertantly constructed. Tearing my eyes away from him, I see that we completely forgot that we had a third person with us. A wave of remorse crashes into me when I realize that we were leaving Jacob out of the conversation.

"I guess I better get a move on," he faintly smiles, backing away. "It was nice seeing you, Bella. You, too, Edward. Catch ya later," he adds with a wave of his hand. We give a quick goodbye before he takes the path that Paul used earlier and he soon disappears into the trees.

Now that it is just Edward and me, our eyes meet and I stare back guiltily. "Oops. I hope we didn't hurt his feelings."

He tries to reassure me that Jacob understands, but I don't see how that's possible. Not only did we make him the third wheel, we completely detached him from the conversation. I'll need to apologize the next time I see him.

Edward and I remain by the fire as the afternoon progresses. Most of the other kids have wandered off, either to stroll along the shore or explore the tide pool area again. I'm enjoying the peace and quiet when something hits my nose. Then my hand, hair, and knee.

_Rain_.

My nose scrunches irritably and I give the slate-gray clouds a scowl. They're blocking the sun completely. All I wanted was _one_ nice day. That's it. Mike kept telling us during the past week that the forecast predicted an uninterrupted weekend of sun and warmer temperatures.

"I knew the sun wouldn't last long," I grumble.

Light drizzle soon turns into big, fat drops of cold rain. I'm the only person who had the foresight to wear a jacket with a hood. People start streaming in from all directions with their sights set on the parking lot. Edward and I do the same. I guess it's time to go home.

As we walk the path leading to the parking area, I observe a bunch of my classmates attempting to squeeze into Mike's SUV. I am kind of glad that he was a jerk this morning. Because if he hadn't left us with no choice but to take the Volvo, Edward and I would be now stuffing ourselves into a cramped vehicle with a car load of cold, damp, miserable people. And the Volvo has the additional advantages of possessing heated seats and a wet driver whose white shirt is beginning to stick to his torso. This requires intensive study that I can't enjoy if there are a bunch of people around.

I plan to also question him about what happened earlier between himself and Sam. Although Jacob said that Sam wouldn't harm Edward, that doesn't mean Paul won't try. Maybe Paul is jealous of the attention Edward receives from Sam and that's why he looked ready to fight. Though that doesn't explain why some of the tribe appears to not trust the Cullens. I _still_ don't understand that.

Edward and I are nearing the car when a tap on the shoulder stops me. "Go ask Angela if she would like to go back to Forks with us," he says in a hushed tone, his head tipping forward. I look in the direction he is indicating and notice her a few paces ahead.

My forehead furrows at his unusual request. He's up to something. I can tell. He doesn't usually offer car rides for no reason. But the low-key eagerness I see displayed on his face has me agreeing to what he wants without question. Damn his sweet, hypnotic eyes.

Edward hands me his car keys and then stops to look around while I continue going forward. I quicken my pace until Angela and I are walking side by side. Rain drops are plopping onto her uncovered head, drenching her honey-brown hair and fogging up her glasses.

"Hey, Ang," I call out over the noise of the rain shower. "Do you want to ride with Edward and me? There's plenty of room."

"Yes! That sounds great. Thanks," she agrees. With a cautious look around her, she lowers her voice to a near whisper and adds, "During our ride back to Forks, Mike promised to talk to us about the time he hiked the Pacific Crest Trail."

She and I exchange knowing looks. No further explanation concerning why she is so appreciative of the offered ride is needed.

As quickly as we can, we rush to Edward's car and I unlock the doors. She hops into the back and I take the front passenger seat. The first thing she does once we are inside is remove her wet eyeglasses and attempt to dry the lenses with her shirt.

"Where's Edward?" she wonders as she places her glasses back upon her nose.

I fidget in my seat and scan around the parking lot, squinting my eyes with the hope of seeing through the car's water-streaked windows. But I can't make anything out thanks to the pouring rain. "Uh. He'll be here soon. I think he needed to do something before we leave," I explain awkwardly.

Angela appears to accept my answer and soon smiles at me. "I'm glad that there was a tiny bit of truth to all those rumors I've been hearing. You're very cute together."

I can feel a faint blush warming my cheeks and I lower my eyes. "Thanks."

"I don't think I've ever seen him smile so much."

My face pops back up. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," she nods. "And you're smiling more, too."

I can't deny it. It's true. In fact, I'm smiling now just _thinking_ about him smiling.

The back door opens and Angela and I immediately stop talking. I look out the window and see Edward and Ben standing in the rain. Ben stares at the backseat and doesn't move for several moments. Then, he snaps his head up to examine Edward's angelic, smiling face.

"Hurry up, Ben. You better get in before the storm comes," advises Edward.

Ben slides into the back as slow as a slug, his gaze fixed upon Angela the entire time. Once seated, he turns and I catch sight of his enlarged eyes behind his thick, wet glasses. Meanwhile Angela stares straight ahead with a body as stiff as a board. The talkative, friendly girl I spoke to just a minute ago is nowhere to be found.

Edward relaxedly steps inside of the car and pulls his seatbelt across his lap. I keep one eye on him, wondering what his angle is. If _this_ is the guy he was hinting at earlier that he believes is interested in taking Angela to the school dance, then I think he's barking up the wrong tree. Angela won't even look at the boy, and Ben is literally shaking in his sneakers. This isn't going to end well.

Edward fires up the engine and we hit the road. He keeps his car's sound system turned off, which makes the silent car ride seem that much more uncomfortable. It isn't until we have exited the reservation does anyone attempt to make conversation.

"So, Bella. Are you going to that dance next Saturday?"

My face instantly rotates to my left to gape at Edward with furrowed eyebrows. Is he feeling all right? Did he hit his head when I wasn't looking and he now suffers from amnesia? He should know the answer to that question.

His lips curl up lopsidedly and he gives a sneaky, dazzling wink. The temperature in the car hits a thousand degrees. I'm really going to need to buy one of those battery-powered, handheld fans to combat the problem.

He keeps waiting expectantly, his attention switching from the road to my face. It occurs to me that I should just answer the question and stop staring at him dreamy-eyed.

Clearing my throat, I say, "No. I'm going to Seattle that day."

His head cocks to the side a few degrees. "Oh, that's right. Now I remember," he replies. The Volvo drives on through an intensifying downpour and a rumble of thunder fills the empty silence until he speaks again. "What about you, Angela? Are you going?"

She turns away from her window and looks towards the front. "No, I guess I'm just going to stay at home." For a spilt second, Ben glances at her unobserved before lowering his eyes down to his lap.

"Oh," says Edward as though this is news to him. He peers into the rearview mirror, and says, "And you, Ben? Surely you're going?"

"No. I'm not," he mutters.

Sadly shaking his head, Edward looks over at me. "That's too bad. I heard that it was going to be a lot of fun. Isn't that right, Bella?" he adds, sounding an awful lot like he's hinting for me to back him up.

"Yeah, I heard that, too."

He forms a small frown and says in almost a sigh, "You would think in this day and age that everyone that wants to attend such a function could do so - without any fears or qualms." I move my head up and down like I'm agreeing with him. "There must be _some_ way that Ben and Angela could go to that dance. It's not fair for them to be left out," he drifts off, stroking the corner of his jaw.

"There's still plenty of time for them to find a date, Edward," I retort in an annoyed tone, though I almost laugh at how fake I probably sound.

"I suppose you're right... If only they could find a partner with absolutely no plans and they would both find to be pleasant to be around." I nod my head while he stares ahead in seemingly deep thought. Soon his body does a jerking movement and he's sitting up straighter. "Here's an idea - why don't you two just go together?"

I give a glance behind me and witness Angela and Ben staring at one another. Her mouth is slightly ajar while he nervously fiddles with his fingers. Although I still don't see any signs of a love connection, I put my trust into Edward's plan and go along it. Slapping on an enthusiastic grin, I look first at Edward and then at the people on the backseat. "That's an excellent idea! What do you two think?"

Ben looks back down at his twitching fingers. "I wouldn't want to be a burden to anyone. Especially someone like Angela," he says sadly.

Angela tilts her head and looks at him with a softening expression. "You're not a burden at all."

His eyes rise until his meets hers. They stay locked for a fleeting moment before they both swing their faces back towards their windows. My interest perks up. There's nothing to see out of those windows except trees, rain, and clouds. So they are basically looking at nothing. I'm beginning to realize that these two are so shy with one another that they have trouble maintaining eye contact. Maybe Edward is onto something after all.

"Why haven't you found a date yet?" I hear Ben ask a couple of minutes later.

"I didn't think anyone was interested in going with me."

He huffs out a scoffing laugh. "That's impossible."

"It's true."

I sneak a peek behind me and see Ben bravely attempting to look at Angela directly. "Would you go if I were to ask you?" he says in a voice that is only a little bit shaky.

"Yeah. I guess I would," she answers with a rising smile.

His expression matches hers when he says more confidently, "Then I guess I should ask you, shouldn't I?"

She giggles a quiet laugh. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Will you go with me to the spring dance?"

"Yes, I will."

They're mutual grins are so sweet that it feels like I'm watching a cheesy Christmas romance on the Hallmark channel. I have the distinct urge to go "aww" at them and maybe search for some tissues to dab at my eyes. But I don't since that would clue them in that I am watching.

I decide to turn back around in order to give them privacy. My attention soon darts over to our driver and I notice that he is already looking in my direction. Edward's mouth tilts up at one corner, appearing infinitely pleased with the outcome of the strategy he concocted. Smug smiles shouldn't be attractive, but he somehow manages to make it work.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- A lot happened in the chapter. Let's review. Mike's a jerk. Edward is swoony. Sam is as large as Bigfoot and is possibly crazy. Paul is also large and acts like a major douchebag. Jacob may be a bit too eager to discuss what's been going on around the reservation. Some of the folks of La Push are wary of the paler members of the Cullen family. And, Angela and Ben are super sweet together. Please discuss.**

**Next Chapter\- Bella questions Edward about Sam and the Cullens. And though the rain may have driven them away from First Beach, their day has only just begun.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	19. Shadows Of The Night

**Chapter 19- Shadows Of The Night**

**March 5, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

Rain drips from the dark clouds overhead and lighting occasionally flashes across the far horizon. Though the weather today turned poor, the two people in Edward's backseat don't appear to mind.

When first thrown together, Ben and Angela's shyness and close proximity made them want to sit as far away from the other as possible. Fifteen minutes later, they are now excitedly making plans for next Saturday's school dance, their knees touching and eyes mutually locked. The couple sitting here are very different from the people they were before Edward's intervention.

However, the upbeat vibe in the car does very little to save my plummeting spirits once the Volvo passes by the Forks welcome sign. The dawning reality that our day is over slaps me hard in the face. Soon I will have to say goodbye to Edward. Then I'll be back at home where I will spend my evening watching Charlie spill potato chip crumbs all over himself as he cheers for whatever game is currently broadcasting on ESPN. That isn't nearly as pleasant as being held in the arms of a handsome green-eyed boy like I was earlier today. Admittedly, he only held me because I would have otherwise fallen into the tide pool, but I'm not going to fuss over the details.

Much too soon the car enters Newton's Olympic Outfitters' lot and we park next to my truck. Angela and Ben thank Edward for the ride and chirp out a goodbye before throwing open the back doors. With huge smiles glued to their faces in spite of the downpour, they jog off towards their vehicles. I angle my body to where I can easily see the boy sitting behind the steering wheel.

"I didn't realize you were a matchmaker, Edward," I tease now that we are alone.

With a cocky smirk firmly in place, he croons, "Apparently I am talented in a multitude of different ways."

"Wow. And modest, too," I mock, holding in a smile.

He playfully shrugs his shoulders. "I try."

The lighthearted moment passes and grim reality sets in again, causing my mouth to almost frown. It is time for me to do as Ben and Angela just did - get out of Edward's car and leave.

"Well. Thanks for the ride," I drawl.

"It was my pleasure."

Unable to help myself, my eyes linger on his face for a few moments more, soaking his image into my mind so it will last me until I can see him again. Slightly damp hair. Clean-shaven jaw. Piercing eyes that have a tendency to overwhelm me. It's awfully hard to look away but I manage to do it. My hand wraps around the cold door handle and I try to focus my energies on getting out of this car without falling directly into a mud puddle.

"Do you have to go home now?"

My body halts all movement. Although his question makes me hopeful that he is as reluctant to allow our day to end as much as I am, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Slowly, I peek over my shoulder. "Not really."

Long fingers drag through bronze hair and tufts of it stick up adorably. Releasing a breath of air, he stares back with a somber, half-lidded gaze. "I don't want you to leave."

His blunt honesty melts my insides. My hand immediately abandons the door handle and I swivel around to face him. "Neither do I."

The green of his eyes sharpens and his words come rapidly. "Stay with me, then. We can find something to do together in Port Angeles if you like."

My lips curve softly upwards. "That sounds nice," I agree.

While I am inwardly fist-pumping over the fact that I will have him to myself for the next few hours, a nagging voice inside of my head whispers that if I head off to Port Angeles without first giving my Police Chief father at least a vague idea of where I will be, he is liable to call in the FBI and utilize every available bloodhound in the state during the search for me. Being the child of a law enforcement officer sometimes has its downsides.

"But I think I should let Charlie know first," I add after my moment's thought comes to its end.

Edward digs out his cellphone and hands it to me. I dial in the first few digits of my phone number and am slightly surprised to see my name pop up as a contact. My cheeks flush to a light pink and I shield my face with my hair. Seeing "_Bella_" displayed on a device he carries around at all times somehow makes what is happening between us feel more real.

Weeks ago, we exchanged phone numbers in case we ever needed to cancel one of our daily study sessions at the last minute. I handed him my number on a torn sheet of notebook paper, believing that he would probably toss it into a junk drawer in his room and forget about it. It's nice to know that he put more value to it than I had assumed. As for _his_ phone number, it is currently displayed prominently on my bulletin board, in the exact center, with four pushpins at each corner to keep it from flying anywhere.

I hit the call button and I soon hear someone pick up the phone at my house. "_Hello_," answers Charlie in his familiar, sandpaper grumble.

"Hey, Dad. It's me. It rained us out so I'm going to Port Angeles for a little while."

He says not a word for several seconds. "_I see,_" he gradually remarks. "_I figured you'd be doing something like that tonight. You and Edward gonna have dinner there, too?"_

My head yanks back and my eyes involuntarily blink a few times in succession. In a slightly confused voice, I say, "Well, yeah, but-"

"_I'm just gonna grab something to eat from the diner, so don't worry about me tonight. On Saturdays they have the meatloaf special. That outta be good."_

"OK," I awkwardly breathe out. I am so stunned by what he said a few seconds ago that I can't even criticize the man for planning to eat at a place that fries more than 75% of its menu in pure pork fat. If he survives tonight's feast, I'll have to spend next week declogging his arteries.

"_You be sure to tell Edward to have you back by eleven o'clock. And I mean, **eleven ****sharp**. If he tries to drop you off even one minute afterwards, he and I will have a talk," _warns Charlie.

My inner teen recoils a little at him trying to flex his parental muscle - especially considering my pristine track record when it comes to following the rules. I've never even been outside of the confines of my _bedroom_ past eleven o'clock let alone out on the streets. Just because I'll be off with Edward for a few hours doesn't mean that I'll suddenly be tempted to break curfew and roll joints as we cruise around town.

"I'll be home long before then, Dad," I retort bitingly.

"_Hmm_," he grunts. I can almost picture his bristly mustache fidgeting around as he analyzes my choice of words. "_All right then. You two be careful. And call if you need me."_

"OK, bye," I say quickly before he can remind me to always look both ways before I cross the street.

The call ends and I flip the phone closed. I find myself staring ahead at the dashboard, attempting to sort through my jumbled thoughts. As though in a dream, I stretch my arm and give the cellphone back to Edward without looking his way.

"What's wrong?" wonders Edward with a face strained with worry. I want to assure him that everything is fine, but I'm still too unnerved by Charlie's earlier perceptiveness to hide my own unease.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just that he told me to tell _you_ to have me home by eleven tonight. But I never told him who I was going with," I explain.

A little crease forms between Edward's eyebrows, making him appear just as bewildered as I am. All I told Charlie was that I was going to PA, yet he seemed to already know that Edward would be with me. I'm starting to think that Charlie's detective skills are being wasted here. The only crimes he gets to solve in Forks are ones like, how did someone T.P. the trees in front of City Hall without being seen? And, who's been tossing gum wrappers every day at the corner of Main and Spruce Streets? Nothing truly exciting or even vaguely interesting happens here.

While the two of us are attempting to solve the puzzle, Lee Steven's van drives up and parks nearby - which means that Mike's SUV will likely not be far behind. Since neither one of us is in the mood to deal with him again today, Edward backs the Volvo out of the parking lot and we hit the highway. He urges me to dig through his music collection and find something for us to listen to during our drive. After a quick perusal, I stick in the latest Evanescence CD since it balances nicely between girlie ballads and alt-rock.

While the music floats in the air, I lean back in the passenger seat and feel my muscles relax. Half of my attention is fixated on Edward as his fingertips tap along to the beat, as though the steering wheel is his own personal piano. The other half of my attention drifts back to the events that occurred at First Beach today. Seeing Edward interacting with those two guys was strange to say the least. And the information Jacob informed me about Sam and Paul was even stranger.

We're a couple of miles north of Forks when I can no longer hold back my curiosity.

"Who were those guys that you were talking to back at La Push?" I ask.

The muscles where his neck meets his jaw briefly tightens before returning to normal. That's the only reaction that I see. He otherwise appears perfectly normal. "They're members of the tribe. I know one of them - though I couldn't tell you much about him. I've only spoken to him once before today." With narrowing eyes, he says between nearly clenched teeth, "As for the other man, I've never met him before today, and I hope to never see him again."

"You don't seem to like them very much."

He exhales a bitter laugh. "They haven't given me very much to like so far," he emphasizes. Then he doesn't say another word on the matter.

I pretend that I am focusing back on listening to the music, yet the truth is that his answers have only wetted my appetite. And combine that with what Jacob said about Sam, it makes me very worried for Edward's safety. Hearing that a gigantic guy is determined to lure a seventeen year old boy to live in La Push after only speaking to him _once_ doesn't sound normal. Either Sam really is nuts and he wants to recruit Edward to his cult, or Sam is in love with him nearly as much as I am. I can't say that I blame him if the latter is the case. However, if Sam wants Edward to join his cult, I _do_ have a problem with that. Bronze-haired idols should bow down to no one.

Edward slows down the car as we draw close to an intersection. Since there is no traffic to be concerned with at the moment, I throw out another question. "Jacob was telling me a little about them. He said that the guy you were talking to was the leader of a cult or gang or something like that. You're not in trouble with them, are you?"

He snorts another laugh and doesn't seem worried at all. "No. Nothing like that. Sam just thinks he has the right to put his nose into everyone's affairs. And, since I disagree with him, we don't get along so well."

My nerves relax a tiny bit. What he said sounds similar to what Jacob told me earlier. Sam isn't dangerous, only very bossy and annoying. Though, I still don't understand why people like Sam and Billy are so set on getting him out of the Cullen household. Why would anyone be afraid of the Cullens? Is there some new phobia out there that's causing them to fear gorgeous, extremely pale people? I guess it's not as embarrassing as being afraid of puppets, but still...

It's more difficult for me to form this next question. How do you politely ask your sort of, kinda boyfriend for the reason why dozens of people hate his adopted family without sounding rude and nosy? I should probably just keep my mouth shut. But my mouth disagrees, and it blurts out, "Jacob told me something else, too. He said that some of the people on the reservation don't like your family very much."

He drives for several seconds before he acknowledges what I have said. "That's true. But I can promise you that it is completely undeserved."

My eyes remain trained on his face when I ask the question that puzzles me the most. "Is there a reason why they don't like them?"

He breathes in deeply and holds the air inside of his lungs. Once he releases it, he glances away from the road and stares at me for as long as he safely can.

"Legends and superstitions - that's what started all this, Bella," he explains, his voice sounding abnormally tired. "Some of the tribe's elders have tried to link my family to some old story from hundreds of years ago. And now they have brainwashed some of the younger members of the tribe, like Sam and his friend, into believing that the Cullens are dangerous and cannot be trusted. But, can you see how ludicrous that is? Did you feel threatened by Esme when she offered you apple pie the other day?"

My lips lift into a smile. It's hard to believe that anyone could be afraid of Esme. She is sweet, kind, and has the poise and grace of a ballerina.

Once I shake my head to answer his question, his shoulders lose some of their rigidness, yet his face still falls into a slight frown. "Some of the tribe refuse to go to the hospital now because Carlisle works there. They believe that he is a threat to them. And, unfortunately, they don't seem to comprehend that by avoiding the hospital that they are threatening their own lives if they don't receive proper medical care in time."

"But the tribe doesn't feel threatened by you," I press gently.

Edward heaves a long sigh and glances at me. "That's correct. They seem to think that I'm putting myself at risk by being so close to the family." The area around his eyes tightens and his voice hardens. "Sam likes to keep track of me and insult the Cullens to my face when he can. I've tried to explain to them all that their concerns are unfounded. I think I should know. I've lived with the Cullens since last summer. I have seen them at their best and at their worst. I can unhesitatingly state that they are kind and loving people. They shouldn't be persecuted based solely upon old stories and legends."

My mouth compresses at what he has shared. Now I understand why he was so upset at having to deal with Sam today. He is very protective of the Cullens and cannot get along with anyone who thinks poorly of them. Although I still don't quite get how an old story could cause a tribe of seemingly intelligent individuals to suddenly believe that the Cullens are something to be wary of. And it must be one whopper of a tale to scare people enough to keep them away from the hospital.

But I guess it doesn't take much for things to get out of control once you combine superstition, fear, and a reservation filled with people suffering from profound boredom. Heaven help them, but there's less to do in La Push than Forks. I'm sure that they are desperate to make up for the lack of excitement just like we are. People like Jessica have turned to manufacturing gossip to liven up their otherwise dull existence. And honestly, her stories do entertain even if a majority of the information is without merit. For example, I doubt the woodshop teacher committed murder - with his mallet, nonetheless - at the last school he taught at just because one of his students couldn't construct a decent birdhouse. But her story _did_ occupy the minds of the kids at Forks High for a while. Plus, it had the additional benefit of Mr. Tadlock having perfectly well-behaved woodshop students for a few weeks.

"It kind of reminds me of rumors at school," I say aloud. "Everything gets blown completely out of proportion. And most people will believe anything that they hear - even if it sounds farfetched."

Edward's head cocks to the side musingly. "I suppose you could look at it that way."

I decide to leave my questioning at that and not press for anything else. We lapse into silence as we travel, both of us listening to the music accompanied by the sound of the raindrops pounding against the car's roof.

At the halfway mark to Port Angeles, Edward begins talking again. As he slowly runs his fingers through his hair, he mentions that he had been trying to think of something for us to do and remembered that there is a museum there that he has never been to. I smile and say yes to the idea. He may not realize it yet, but he could have suggested that we head over to the auto parts store to browse the new shipment of windshield wipers and I would have agreed. I really don't care what I do as long as I have him in the vicinity.

Roughly half an hour later, we're rushing up to a ticket booth in downtown Port Angeles. A sign on the window warns that the last tour of the day is set to begin in less than five minutes. After the family in front leaves the line, Edward yanks out his wallet and buys two tickets for us - without consulting me first to see if maybe I want to pay my own way. Right as I am on the brink of pulling out money and demanding that he take out what I owe him, I am reminded of an incident from a little over a month ago. In a small café in this same town, he sneakily paid for my brownie and claimed that it was his "duty as a host" to do so since he invited me to get something to eat. After I threw a fit, he agreed that the next time we ate something together that I had the right to pay for both of our meals. A satisfied smile curls my lips at the memory. I'll let him pay for _this_ since it was his idea. But dinner will be on _me_.

The tour guide calls for our attention and everyone drifts closer to him. There are only two small families, an elderly couple, plus Edward and me on the tour this evening. The rain and generally unpleasant weather going on outside must have driven away most of the tourists.

When Edward brought up the idea of going to a museum today, I expected for the place to be your standard, small town type of attraction. I thought that I would see things like fossils found by accident in backyards, dusty stuffed raccoons and mountain lions that the passing of time has not been kind to, oil paintings from local artists, and maybe even those antique dentures Mike's ancestor once found in a salmon's belly. So I am surprised when I discover that this museum isn't quite like that. In fact, it's not even "in" Port Angeles. It's actually underneath it.

Our guide on the Underground Heritage Tour explains that Port Angeles once had a serious problem with flooding. To save their community, the townspeople decided to raise the city by a few feet - which had to be a daunting task considering the tools they had way back then. So in 1914, tons of dirt was brought in and the lower floors of the buildings in the downtown were buried and largely abandoned. Today, tourists are able to stroll down tunnels directly below the sidewalks of modern day Port Angeles and get a glimpse of what the storefronts of the town looked like almost a hundred years ago.

As we descend below ground, a shiver crawls up my spine. The atmosphere of this place has all of the hallmarks of a Stephen King novel. For one thing, it's very dark. What little daylight that comes from the occasional window high above is depressingly weak thanks to the storm raging on. Some of the areas on the tour appear so unused that it seems like no one has passed through since Charlie Chaplin was a draw at the cinema. And the sounds I hear are not comforting either. Ominous stretches of silence. Quiet breathing. Echoing footfalls. The drip, drip of falling water. It feels a bit like we have entered a catacomb. Every time we turn a corner, I half believe that I am going to run into the tomb of some unfortunate laborer who died during construction of the huge project. Or worse, I'll see his spirit floating around. Because of these things, I find myself sticking even closer to Edward than I normally do.

Some aspects of the tour are not as spooky, thank goodness. A huge, old mural of a mountain scene in one of the rooms is so quaint and beautiful that it makes me a little prouder to call this area home. Another room displays a wall of photographs that were taken of the downtown area before, during, and after completion of the project to raise the city. I give them a cursory glance without really studying what I am seeing.

I'm at the door, ready to move on to the next room, when I discover that Edward is no longer walking with me. He is standing immobile in front of a faded, sepia-hued photograph. I silently gasp once I get a glimpse of his pained features. Brows knitted together. Lips slightly turned down at their corners. And even from this distance, I can see a sadness - a sense of desolation - in his eyes that is hard to fathom that anyone could be strong enough to survive.

Unable to go on seeing him suffering alone, I walk back to him. I'm not normally the type of person that touches others. I have never been one to drag someone in for a hug or slap them on the back for a job well done. I'm normally reserved and prefer to keep my hands to myself. But something inside of me summons the courage to ignore my typical shyness. I slowly reach out and take his hand, prepared to give him whatever comfort that I can.

Once my fingers entwine with his, the spell he was under breaks. After a flash of confusion, he snaps his attention away from the old photographs and looks down at me.

"Are you OK?" I ask in a hushed tone.

A small, crooked smile grows on his face and he visibly relaxes - much to my relief. Simultaneously, he clasps my hand tighter in a firm but gentle grip. "I'm fine. I get a little melancholy at times when I look at photos like these."

My eyes flick to the images he has been studying and I try to look at them closer this time around, hoping that I will understand why they would affect him so strongly.

I see dirty laborers posed with shovels as they move soil from one spot to another. I see old store windows that were once exposed to rain and sun which are now buried under the ground. I notice that the town's streets at the time were made from hard-packed dirt instead of asphalt, which must have been _loads_ of fun driving on after a good rain shower. Strolling along a wooden plank sidewalk, I spot a man dressed in a three-piece suit with a cane hooked around his arm, looking uncannily like the Monopoly guy sans monocle. I see a few women in dresses that reach below their ankles and shudder a little at how annoying that must have been the deal with. Each woman, no matter their age, wears a hat. Some are simple but elegant. Others are frilly, elaborate works of art decorated with giant silk ribbons, flowers, and so many feathers that I'm surprised that any bird species still exist on planet Earth.

That's what I see on the surface as I analyze these photographs from nearly a hundred years ago. Yet once I catch sight of a small child in the arms of an older woman, it hits me that what I am looking at is more than just proof that the town has grown or its citizens have changed in their fashion habits. I become aware that the people in these photos were living beings. It's startling to realize that each person represented in these photographs had families, hopes, dreams, and stories that very few people today would be able to recall. When I try to think of an ancestor older than my grandparents, I draw a blank. And that makes me more than a little bit ashamed.

No wonder Edward seemed so depressed just now. Looking at these images is a reminder that life is a short, fleeting thing. Sadly, it's more than likely that every one of these people passed on to the other side long, long ago. Did that small child I saw in the arms of an adult ever get to grow up and carve out a happy life? Or, did its fate end at an early age due to the lack of vaccinations available at that time? I'll never know. The photographer did not have the foresight to list any names. His task was to only capture the appearance of the buildings downtown. The people in the shots were merely there as background.

"I think I understand," I tell Edward, still studying the pictures in front of us. "It makes you think of mortality and loss."

"Yes. Something like that," he utters in a tone as soft and smooth as silk.

Now that I am paying attention, I see more things that spark my interest. Evidently in 1914 Port Angeles, they still mainly used horses and wagons as transportation. One is loaded down with wood headed to the nearby sawmill. Another wagon sits in front of a small store as its owner loads it down with bags of animal feed. I see cars in the photos only occasionally - if you can even call them that. The vehicles from the time aren't the sleek, aerodynamic cars you see today. Back then, they were mostly plain, utilitarian things that resembled a box in shape. Their tires looked like something you would see on a bicycle. And save for the windshield, I see that side windows were not common.

One car in particular intrigues me. I step forward and read that the photograph was snapped in the spring of 1914, so it was most definitely taken during the rainy season. Yet I am flabbergasted when I confirm that the car had no roof. I can see its unprotected seats and steering wheel exposed to the elements. What mental asylum escapee designed _this_ vehicle? Did people have to hold up their umbrellas over their heads as they drove around in their cars?

I peek around at Edward and giggle at the thought I just had. Pointing towards the photograph, I say, "Who in their right mind would ever have a car with no roof here?"

He draws closer and screws up his eyes, causing his forehead to wrinkle a little. Moments later, his finger lands on the back of the car in question and moves back and forth. "The Model T has a retractable roof. See? It's right there. This was probably taken on one of those rare occasions when it's not raining like cats and dogs here."

I squint where his forefinger rests and just barely spot what he is referring to. The area he indicates is slightly raised compared to the rest of the car. If he hadn't pointed it out, I would have never noticed.

"Oh, I see now," I mumble. I turn away from the old vehicle and study the boy beside me, suddenly suspicious at something he said. "How did you know what type of car it was? They all look the same to me."

He gifts me with a smile that makes his eyes shine. "I'm something of an expert in identifying vintage automobiles - mainly pre-World War I vehicles."

Gee. Why am I not surprised that he has more impressive things to add to his resume? No wonder he was able to correct my error so fast.

One of my hands comes to rest on my hip and my head cocks to the side accusingly. "So, you're telling me that all those times you made fun of how old my truck was, you were in reality an antique car aficionado?"

"Correct. I can never take that truck of yours seriously because it is no longer considered an automobile. Everyone at school calls it 'The Beast'."

"You're lying."

He raises his hand like we are in a court of law and his face turns angelic. "I swear. Would I lie about something as important as the nickname of the next school mascot?"

I badly want to roll my eyes. How can he be so annoying yet cute at the same time?

"Is nothing sacred to you? That truck and I are a package deal. You can't have the one without the other."

A sigh leaves his lips. "Very well. I suppose that I'll put up with you until I can convince your father to sell me the truck," he says in an exasperated tone.

Hiding my smile as to not encourage his teasing, I swipe up his hand and pull him out of the room - away from the vintage photographs that had sent him into a depression. He follows willingly and we rejoin most of the tourists who are busy looking at artefacts in glass cases.

By the time the tour is complete, it's 6 o'clock and almost completely dark outside. We walk through the now slightly drizzling rain and climb inside of his car.

"Where to now?" I ask him once my seatbelt is buckled.

"I suppose dinner is in order now. You choose the place. I'll be fine with whatever you want."

Since this isn't a metropolis that would have every cuisine available, I try to think of something basic that Port Angeles would likely have. The first thing that crosses my mind soon pops out of my mouth.

"I'm thinking maybe Chinese?" I throw out, watching him for any signs of disgust.

His eyes lower themselves and dart around randomly. "Is it something that you enjoy very often?"

"I used to. I haven't had it since moving back here."

His pink tongue slides across his lips and his gaze lands back on my face. "What is it like?"

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. That can't be right. I had to have misheard him. He's from _Chicago_, one of the largest cities in the country. How could he not have been to a Chinese restaurant? Heck, you can buy egg rolls at the Thriftway back in Forks and at least _pretend_ you're eating the real deal.

"You've never eaten Chinese food before?" I ask in amazement.

His mouth pinches together slightly and he shakes his head. "No. My family did not experiment with foreign foods very often. French and English are the extent of what our cook felt comfortable making us. And, Esme prefers to make old-fashioned American classics. So, I've never had the chance really to broaden my taste buds, so to speak."

I blink at him for a short time, absorbing his explanation. He must have had a very strict, conservative upbringing to have lived seventeen years and never tasted Chinese, Indian, Japanese, or even Italian food. But I'm even more surprised that the Cullens haven't taken him to more places for dinner. Do they prefer to only eat at home or something?

A surge of determination bubbles inside of me. I sit up straighter in my seat, feeling like it's my responsibility to drag him out of his comfort zone. "OK, then. My mind's made up. Let's find a Chinese place."

Turns out that this town has only one Chinese restaurant, but it must be pretty good since it's packed. Edward parks on the street and insists on opening my door even though I have functioning hands. I grudgingly allow it and it appears to make his day. On a roll, he pulls open the polished wood door of the restaurant for me too. As we wait to be seated, he's almost grinning from the privilege I gave him. I don't believe that it's normal for a teenage boy to be this happy just because he opened up a couple of doors. But I guess there's something wrong with me too since I like the way his eyes almost paralyze me into a drooling mess. We both have our own mental kinks we must deal with, I guess.

It doesn't take long for the host to place us at a table with a huge window that overlooks the busy street. He gives us each a menu and I dig right in. A quick perusal lets me know that this place has all the standard entrées. Once I see that they serve Mongolian Beef, I close the menu and wait for someone to take our order.

Edward's brows are furrowed as he flips through the pages. He takes his time and reads each choice on the menu. Eventually, he snaps it shut and places it on the table.

"Hi, my name's Brittany and I'll be your waitress tonight," a high-pitch squeal greets soon afterwards. Appearing at our table is a woman that I would describe as being Jennifer Garner's more attractive but less financially well off sister. If I had to guess, I would say that she was a few years older than we are. She wears her dark coffee hair up in a bun to keep it out of her face as she serves tables. Her body is tall, slim, and curvy like a Victoria's Secret catalog model. But her smile feels friendly and genuine as she whips out a notepad and pencil. Her only flaw is that she has a wad of bubblegum that she smacks on like a goat chewing hay. Her mouth opens wide with each chewing motion, exposing more of the insides than I care to examine. Maybe if I was studying dentistry I would appreciate it, but right now it doesn't help my appetite.

"Have you decided what you would like to order?" she asks cheerfully, her pencil poised upon the notepad.

"I'll take the Mongolian Beef and a coke, please."

She jots it down and nods her head, her gum smacking increasing in intensity as she works. Once she is done, she looks up from the paper and her gaze falls upon Edward. Her smile goes from friendly to simpering in approximately 1.4 seconds - a new record, I believe. I watch as her big blue eyes travel up, down, and all around his face and body. I've heard the expression "undressed him with her eyes" but have never seen it for myself. Until now, that is.

Her carefully painted mouth parts open into a flirty smirk and her eyelashes flutter. "And what about you? Do you know what you want, or do you need some _help_?"

Edward holds his menu out towards her and doesn't return the smile. "No thank you. I'd like the Sesame Chicken and a plain water."

The waitress doesn't remove the menu from his hands, and instead flips it back open while he still holds it. Like a circus contortionist, she bends her top heavy upper body over the table and gets as close to him as she can without actually grabbing his face and thrusting it directly into her peeking cleavage.

"We have a special tonight. If you order Number Three, you'll get Sesame Chicken _and_ a vegetable medley for nearly the same price," she coos.

"I'd rather stay with my original order, please," he mutters, moving his face away from her free peep show.

Just a few short hours ago, Edward confronted humongous, muscular guys that look like they take a hit of steroids along with their bowl of Wheaties every morning. He did not appear frightened at all of Sam or Paul. However, right now his eyes are wide and his face is paler than the bowl of rice at the next table over. Who knew that insanely forward girls scare him more than the threat of being pulverised?

Instead of taking the hint and backing off, the waitress doesn't move an inch and keeps her cleavage on display. A few seconds pass by. Edward's face unexpectedly morphs into a large smile and he looks over at me. "Money is no consequence tonight," he announces in an abnormally perky tone. "We're here to celebrate. I'm turning sixteen in a couple of weeks and I finally got my learner's permit yesterday."

The contortionist waitress pops up into a standing position and steps back a step or two. Now it's _her_ turn to be frightened. I almost feel sorry for her. _Almost_.

"Oh. Congratulations," she says flatly while glancing around the room for anyone that may have just watched her coming on to a "fifteen year old" boy. She buttons up her shirt until she appears professional again and adds, "Your food should be here shortly." Then she takes off like a rocket to the restaurant's kitchen.

I return my attention back to Edward and see him serenely sitting there with perfect posture and his hands clasped together - looking as though a young woman didn't just throw herself at him a minute ago. A tiny part of me wants to be jealous at what went down and be angry that she openly flirted with him in my face. But a larger part of me had been too entertained by his lame excuse to be too mad - especially considering that he looked to be suffering from debilitating embarrassment during the Breastgate incident.

"She was very _helpful_ to you," I deadpan, making sure to keep my expression devoid of a smile.

He fidgets in his seat and scowls in annoyance. "Is that what people are calling it these days? I would say it was more like impropriety."

Dragging out the fun, I take my time in opening my napkin and setting it on my lap. "I didn't realize you weren't at least sixteen," I remark nonchalantly. My brow cocks up and I try to keep my lips from curling into a smile. "Maybe I should rethink being seen with you so often - it might damage my reputation at school."

His head tilts a few degrees as he thoroughly examines my face. "I wasn't aware that you were concerned over what others thought of you so much."

My mouth rises into an amused smirk. "I'm not, but I don't want anyone to think that I'm trying to take advantage of a fifteen year old," I mock.

The green of his eyes seem to amplify, drawing me powerlessly in. "Is that what you were planning? To take _advantage_ of me?"

My smirk disappears and the room heats up. Before my cheeks can erupt in flames, I take a break in staring at him and pretend that I am too busy to answer his question right away. Slowly, I shove my jacket off of my shoulders and hang it on the back of my chair before I speak. "No," I reply eventually.

"That's nice to know," he purrs, still watching me closely. "I was anticipating that we would have something much more substantial than that."

Again, I am thrown by the words which easily flow from his lips. "How do you do that?" I say after a long, drawn out sigh.

"What?"

"How do you turn the conversation around like that? I was teasing you about your little stunt with the waitress, and you turn it into a serious conversation about us. I just want to know how you do it."

"It's simple really," he answers. He leans forward a little and entraps my eyes. "You're easy to talk to."

While he works to put me into a trance, our food arrives and the distraction helps me to look away from probing green eyes. Brittany the waitress sets down our plates and glasses with barely a smile. She won't even look at Edward. The poor thing. I wonder if she was in the back trying to find out if shoving your breasts at a fifteen year old is illegal?

With our food delivered and Brittany gone, I sip at my Coke and idly fiddle with what she gave us. Along with our forks, spoons, and knives, she left a couple of packages of plastic wrapped chopsticks upon the table. I pick one up and casually study it. Although I have tried many times, I have never been able to eat with chopsticks. They usually either make me appear as advanced as a toddler as food dribbles across the tablecloth, or they fly out of my fingers and land somewhere across the room. Both are traumatizing when it happens in public.

Across the table, the sound of ripping plastic catches my attention. I glance up and see Edward opening his set of chopsticks and pulling them out. My forehead crinkles confusedly as I watch. He said that he's never eaten Chinese food before. So, how does he know how to use chopsticks?

While this question stumps me, I covertly keep my eye on him. With great care, he places the two sticks between the fingers of his right hand. Next, he moves the top chopstick up a little bit. Both chopsticks immediately fall on his plate. He picks them back up and the same thing happens again and again. On the fourth or fifth try, they stay in his hand when he moves them. He then targets a small piece of Sesame Chicken on his plate and attempts to pick it up. It drops off before it even makes it an inch above the plate.

A smile blossoms on my face. I've gotten used to seeing him do everything flawlessly. He has impeccable manners, perfect coordination, and so many talents that I can barely keep track of them. But seeing him bumbling with those chopsticks is something that I never expected. I think I have finally found something that the great Edward Masen cannot do.

I have to give him credit, though. He doesn't give up easily. His face is scrunched up in determination. Every time that piece of chicken falls, he picks it right back up. My eyes begin watering as I hold in my laughter. Somewhere around two minutes into his attempt, I'm impressed to see him lift the chicken to nearly his mouth before it falls out of the chopsticks' grasp. However, instead of landing on his plate, it falls directly onto his lap.

I try and fail to suppress my giggles. After it escapes, I lock my lips together and attempt to appear casual. But Edward's face pops up and meets my eye. I notice that his eyebrows are still knitted together in frustration. Seeing the look on his face triggers more giggles inside of me.

"Are you having trouble eating?" I ask amusedly, chewing my lips to keep from grinning.

He sets down his chopsticks and sighs wearily. "I'm afraid I'm not cut out for this. Apparently, over a billion people on this Earth are intelligent enough to eat with this contraption just fine, but I've just discovered that I am not one of them."

It hits me that he saw me playing with my chopsticks and may have thought that everyone is expected to use them while dining on Asian food. An idea soon brews in the back of my mind. He has poked fun and teased me at every opportunity. It's time for me to deliver payback.

I try to stop giggling at what happened to him. "I'm sorry about that. Would you like for me to show you how we eat Chinese food in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

He watches me closely as I take my time setting the scene. I know that he expects for me to wow him by showing off my chopstick skills, but I would probably just wind up poking myself in the eye with them. Instead I neatly place my unused chopsticks on the table, straighten my posture, pick up a fork, and start eating my food in the same way I do every day.

His brow arches as it dawns on him that I am just as clueless as he is when it comes to eating with anything more complicated than a fork and spoon. "Is this your way of telling me that you set me up to look like a fool?" he questions.

I keep my mouth relaxed instead of grinning as I would like. "No. I would never set you up, Edward. All I did was watch you eat."

A corner of his lips cocks up and he picks up his fork from the table. "I never realized how sly you were, Miss Swan. I suppose that I should watch you more closely from now on," he playfully growls.

We soon shift from harmless jokes to concentrating on eating our food. Once our waitress notices that we are done, she brings over a tiny tray which holds our bill and two fortune cookies. She sets it down in the very middle of the table and runs off. While Edward takes a drink of his water, I grab the bill and begin checking for any inaccuracies.

"What are you doing?"

My head snaps up to find him staring at me with suspicious eyes. In response, I give him my sweetest smile. "Paying our bill."

His eyes enlarge and he swallows roughly. "You're not supposed to do _that_."

"And why is that exactly?"

"Gentleman do not force their dates to settle their debts, Bella," he retorts, utilizing his perfect diction.

My arms fold themselves across my chest and I stare back challengingly. "_Oh_? Is that right? Well, what do they say about gentleman who don't keep their word?"

His brows pucker in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Exactly one month ago, we ate at that little café. You claimed that since you invited me there, that _you_ were responsible for paying. I told you that I would pay the next time we ate together, and you agreed. So, here we are. Time for me to fulfill _my_ word."

"_Bella_," he moans as though he is in pain.

I flash a large smile and continue to hold on tightly to our bill. "_Edward_," I say, matching his whining tone.

He leans forward, his face and voice now serious. "I truly appreciate the gesture, I really do. But I don't believe that it's right for you to have to pay. Besides, I don't recall actually saying the words '_I agree'_ to you that night."

"Maybe," I allow with a half shrug and smug grin. "Though this time _I_ was the one that _invited_ you for Chinese tonight. And, going by your logic, that makes me responsible for the bill."

His broad shoulders droop in defeat. I bet he didn't realize that I still remembered that excuse he used on me. "You aren't going to give up, are you?" he asks resignedly.

"Nope," I confirm, popping out the sound.

He falls back in his chair and an adorable pout puckers his mouth. "I'll have you know that by doing this, that you are tarnishing my status as a gentleman," he mutters.

My eyes rotate around in their sockets. Just because I am paying for our meal doesn't mean that it will reflect poorly on him.

"No I'm not. I'm just helping you upgrade it. You're going from outdated gentleman to a modern and _fair minded gentleman_. So, no more complaining."

He quietens down and I resume looking over the bill. Just as I think that he has accepted the fact that I will be the one responsible for paying for our dinner, he says, "Will you at least let me take care of the tip?"

I frown and shoot him a frosty glare that freezes him into submission.

Twisting his mouth, he backs off. "I'll take that as a '_no_', then," he breathes out.

I pull out my cash and set the money on top of the tray. Feeling a sense of pride, I look over at him and smile. Not only have I not humiliated myself during my first ever date, I had the opportunity to pay part of our expenses. This night has gone perfectly. Well, except for the near lap dance our waitress tried to give Edward. That wasn't so great...

I shake off the negative thought and refocus on the fact that she at least left us with one of my favorite things on the planet. "Time for fortune cookies," I proclaim, snatching one up from the tray.

"The what?"

I push the other plastic package over to him. "This is the best part of Chinese food. In each cookie is a small piece of paper with a fortune written on it. It's fun to speculate on what it may mean."

In restrained excitement, I rip open the plastic and break the cookie apart. Squinting my eyes, I read the fortune out loud. "_In order to get the rainbow, you must endure the rain."_

My face collapses into a near scowl. What was _that_? I wanted a fortune, not a weather forecast.

I toss the strip of paper down in disgust and look up at Edward. "I'll never escape the rain. It follows me everywhere," I grumble irritably. "Your turn."

He swipes up his and cracks the cookie open. As he reads, a tiny smile appears which grows by the second. I wait and wait for him to share what's on the piece of paper, but he doesn't utter a peep. Then, he digs out his wallet and shoves it deep inside.

"What did yours say?" I press curiously.

All he does is shake his head and keeps on grinning like it's heaps of fun to keep secrets from me. As he returns the wallet back to his pocket, I add, "I read mine to you."

"I know, and thank you, too. However, I cannot return the favor. I don't want to risk ruining my fortune."

My eyes slightly narrow at him. "You're not being fair, Edward."

"I suppose you are right," he concedes, stroking his jaw. "How about this - I promise to show you this once I know for certain that my fortune has come true."

I release a sigh and flop back in my chair. "Well, since I have no other choice, I guess I'll have to agree... _Cheater_," I throw in as a disgruntled whisper. He hears me and laughs with gleaming green eyes while I narrow mine. He's lucky that he's so handsome that I am reluctant to leave a handprint on his face.

With the meal paid and my change safely inside of my pocket, we exit the restaurant and find that the rain is gone. The streetlights shine down through the light mist hovering above the ground. It is much cooler now than it was earlier, so I zip up my jacket as we wander back to his Volvo.

"What time is it?" I ask midway there.

He stops and pulls out his pocket watch. "7:03."

Continuing on our journey, I map out a schedule that will maximize as much time with him as I can - hording each minute that I can have with him like a miser. It takes roughly an hour to go from Port Angeles back home to Forks. Since my curfew is at eleven, that means that Edward and I will need to be on the highway by ten. That leaves almost three hours for us to do whatever we want.

He unlocks the car door and I slide into the seat. I strain my brain to come up with something we can do. I guess the movie theater is an option but I'm not in the mood. I would much rather talk with him than stay quiet for two hours.

While he strides around the car and enters on the driver's side, my brain conjures up the memory of a conversation I once had with Jessica. As a self-described guru when it comes to dating, she wished to impart her "wisdom" to me since I was (and still am) an amateur. She gave insight into every place she has ever visited and graded it on a scale from one to ten on how romantic it was. Coming in at a respectful seven was the City Pier, a place I have yet to see.

"Since it's not raining anymore, do you want to go to the pier? Jessica said that it's kind of like the highlight of the town," I elaborate, drawing in my lip between my teeth.

"That sounds all right to me," he agrees as he sticks his car keys into the ignition. "But before we go there, I'm stopping for dessert. There's a place a few blocks away that sells the best ice cream in town. We can eat our ice cream on the pier. _But I'm buying_," he emphasizes, cockily arching his eyebrow in preparation for any possible argument on my part.

My eyes roll and I cross my arms. "_Fine_," I heave out.

We drive to the place he spoke of but it's lights are turned off. A sign on the door declares that it is closed for the evening. The second shop we find is closed too. On the opposite side of town we finally track down an opened ice cream shop. And it unfortunately appears that every family in town has decided to take the kids there tonight. Many cars, trucks, and minivans line the quiet street. As we pass by the huge window, I spot a dozen or so people waiting to order.

Edward parks at the first vacant parking space available, but it is still a good walk away from the ice cream parlor. He shuts off the engine and purses his mouth ruminatively.

"Would you like to stay here while I run inside or do you want to come with me?" he wonders.

I look behind us at the distance we would have to cover. I'm not thrilled with the idea of having to walk from here to there and then back again - all while balancing an ice cream cone. That can only spell disaster for Bella Swan. I would more than likely trip over a crack in the sidewalk and end up with the cone landing in my hair. Looking like a unicorn with chocolate sauce dripping down my forehead would not make this evening magical.

"Umm... I think I'd rather wait here. Just get me something simple. I don't care," I tell him.

He leaves the keys in the car when he steps out. Before he jogs off, he presses the automatic lock button and all of the doors lock. I watch him in the side mirror until he disappears into the fog.

A minute turns into several. Several become much longer. When I estimate that he's been gone ten minutes, I squirm in my seat. It feels like each minute that he is gone is a minute wasted. I should have just gone in with him. What was I thinking? I could have asked him to carry my ice cream instead of waiting here forever like a moron.

I can't go on just sitting here so I slide out of the car to go see what's holding him up. I stretch out as I stand by the open passenger side door and give my surroundings a quick peek. This side of town isn't as bustling as some parts. Most of the shops on this street are closed either for the night or until Monday morning. Passing vehicles are few and far between.

My feet are prepared to walk towards the ice cream parlor when I catch a glimpse of a book inside of a display window. My interest instantly percolates beyond control. Without being able to resist, I slam the car door and wander over the twenty feet or so feet that separates me from the store. The interior is dark, but the muted streetlight illuminates the window just enough for me to browse.

It isn't long before I am disappointed by the window display. I see titles like _From Auras To The Zodiac - Your Spiritual Guide To Life. _And, _Numbers Are Your Friend And Numerology Will Prove It. _Once I see a sign which claims to have crystals for healing your chakras - all for only $35 dollars a piece - I decide that I have seen enough. They probably wouldn't carry the types of books I prefer. Mom would like this place though. Maybe I can buy her one of those dreamcatchers they have hanging in there and send it to Florida for her birthday.

I rotate around and take a couple of steps right as a dark, shadowy figure emerges from the fog. My face lights up since I assume that Edward has finally returned. I stop in my tracks and wait for him. But, as the person comes closer, my smile abandons me. At the same moment, my body breaks out into goosebumps - as though in an attempt to warn me of impending danger.

That's not Edward, I realize.

As the figure stalks towards me, only one thought enters my mind.

_I should have stayed in the damn car._

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Dun, dun, duuun!**

**Reviews keep me writing instead of doing chores that my kids can do for themselves. I would much rather tell them that I can't vacuum today because I have to answer all these awesome reviews. I don't like to lie to them. Please don't make me. ;)**

**Next Chapter\- A life hangs in the balance. And a secret begins to unravel.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	20. Something About The Way You Look Tonight

**A/N- WARNING. The first portion of this chapter will deal with an attempted rape situation. Although it will be HEA and not excessively graphic, please keep this in mind if you choose to continue reading. And, as a friendly reminder, this chapter will be rated "Mature" for a wee bit of adult language. **

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**Chapter 20- Something About The Way You Look Tonight**

**March 5, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

I try to ignore my initial gut instinct of the figure walking down the sidewalk. I remind myself that I shouldn't be afraid. I'm in the middle of downtown Port Angeles. Even though no one is out on the streets other than this stranger and me, it's unlikely that anything bad will happen. This city is almost as safe as Forks. Muggings and murders are rare. The man coming this way probably has business to take care of and is only heading to his next destination.

Although there is probably nothing to worry about, I decide that it is best to be safe than sorry. I walk forward with my sight set on Edward's car. It's twenty or so feet away, a scant few steps really. I'll just climb back in the passenger side, lock the door, and watch the stranger stroll right on by. Then I'll see for myself that I am simply overreacting.

Stocky is what comes to mind as the man moves out of the shadows. He walks with a self-assured strut, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. He is dressed similarly to any day laborer that you may see around the region - a baggy black nylon jacket over a dark blue flannel shirt and distressed jeans. The work boots on his feet are caked in mud along their bottoms. His dark hair is stringy and unkempt, like he hasn't showered in a few days.

I've always tried to abide by the saying "never judge a book by its cover" when it comes to meeting someone new. But, as the man draws nearer, I feel that there is something off about him that I can't overlook. While he isn't the most hygienic person I have ever seen, it's not his unflattering clothes or scruffy appearance that worries me. It's the expression on his face which gives me the creeps.

He stares in a way that feels invasive, the unwanted attention impelling me to look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his thin lips slyly curling up. By instinct, my walking pace quickens. Unfortunately, he does the same. In seconds, he is in front of me and blocks the path I was taking. The strange man only stands three or four inches taller than my 5'4 frame, yet his body is much broader. I feel greatly disadvantaged.

With my heartbeat racing, my eyes dart to the side - searching for sanctuary. I'm only a few feet away from the Volvo. All I need to do is get around this guy and then I will be fine.

My anxiousness becomes more pronounced when his oily head cocks to the side and he peers down at me. "Hey. What's a girl like you doin' all alone on a night like this-ss?" he slurs in a drawling accent.

My throat dries of moisture, suddenly feeling as arid as the Sahara. The scent of hard liquor mixed with his putrid breath smoothers my face, nearly gagging me. I swallow a couple of times and manage to distribute enough saliva in my mouth to talk. "Excuse me," I rasp in a hoarse whisper while I try to maneuver around him.

The man moves at the same time, thwarting me from going even one step forward. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there. Where you goin'? Aren't ya gonna tell me your name?"

I don't respond and ignore the question. I try again to bypass him, but the man has become a living wall between me and the car.

"Don't be like that, baby," he implores in some perverted form of flirtation. He pauses while his leering eyes rake up and down my shivering body. "Ya know, you look like you need some loosenin' up. Lucky for us, I know _just_ what to do with girls like you."

My lungs seize for a moment. This is much worse than a mugging. He wants more than just my wallet. The pepper spray Charlie bought for me still rests on my desk at home. I have _nothing_ to defend myself with.

"No. Please," I gasp, on the verge of hyperventilating. I walk a step backwards to put space between us, but he follows after me. Taking another gulp of air, I stiffen my shoulders and hold up my chin in a show of faux confidence. "I-I just-... My friend will be here any minute. I need...you to move."

His lips curl further with malicious delight. "Aww, I'm sure your friend won't mind if I borrow you for a while." The man bends down until his eyes are on my level. "If you promise me that you won't be a bad girl and don't put up a fight, I'll try to show you a good time." Then he winks as though he's doing me a favor.

A rush of adrenaline pours into my veins and my muscles tense. No one is around to see what is happening. No one is here to help. All of the stores on this end of the street are shut down for the night. The ice cream shop and Edward are way up the road, and I'm not fast or strong enough to get around this guy. So I really have only one choice.

_Run_.

In a blind panic, I whirl around and take off in the opposite direction. My heart hammers in time with the pursuing footsteps I hear trailing behind me. Every time my feet make contact with the sidewalk, I pray that they will be coordinated enough to keep me from tumbling to the ground. I know that if they fail me, I'll be done for. He'll be right on top of me. And I can't let that happen.

Along with my panting breaths, I can hear laughter filling the otherwise silent night. _His_ _laughter_. This warped stranger is _enjoying_ this. He likes seeing me run in fear. I can imagine the pleased, chilling sneer he wears as he chases me. But I don't dare look behind me to see if my prediction is true. That would be a grave mistake.

We run past store after store but none have their lights on. I make it far enough to discover that the street ends at a three-way intersection, offering only two options for escape. I don't have time to decide which way I should go. My choice has to be instantaneous. It's a gamble - like blackjack. I won't know if I made the wrong decision until it is too late to change my mind.

I choose left.

Leaping off the sidewalk, I flee across the intersection without pausing to check for oncoming traffic. However, there are no vehicles around to help or hit me. The only things on the road in this section of town are a psychotic predator and his intended prey.

I'm running on the white lines of this new road when my limbs begin to hurt. I'm not used to running like this. My legs won't last much longer. But, not too far up ahead, a beacon shines in the night and brings me hope.

A shop sign.

A _lit_ shop sign.

That means that there is a business open. There will be _people_ in there. If my legs can just carry me a little further, I will be _seen_. Someone will witness what's going on and they will call the police. Maybe I'll even be able to make it inside of whatever store it is and this guy will get spooked. And then he will finally leave me alone.

The throbbing in my legs grow painful, but there's not much more distance to cover before I'll be at that store. A hundred feet? I don't know. It doesn't matter. What I do know is that I can make it now. As long as I don't trip over anything, I will be fine.

I'm passing where a small side road connects to the main street when a hairy arm hooks around my waist. My mouth opens wide to scream but nothing comes out except a dry gasp. Inhaling the chilled night air in heavy, panting breaths combined with my terror has rendered me nearly mute. No one will hear my silent scream.

At the same time, a calloused hand slaps across my lips and partially covers my eyes. My teeth nip into the skin of his palm, but the bite is negligible. He easily clamps my jaw shut and barks a mocking laugh at my feeble attempt to hurt him. I feel myself being dragged away, my feet scrapping the hard ground. No amount of struggling or thrashing convinces the arm to release me. In fact, it constricts tighter into my middle and makes it more difficult to breathe.

Unexpectedly, the man sees fit to loosen his grip. My weakened legs fall out from under me and I stumble to the ground. Another cackle of amusement from him immediately follows. I quickly rise up on my feet and look around. This place he has dragged me to is filled with shadows. The only light which seeps in is a distant orange-hued streetlight. To both my left and right are the featureless sides of brick buildings. To my rear is a high wooden fence with no footholds to climb. I come to realize that he has brought me to an alley. An alley that has only _one_ exit. And the psycho currently stands between me and freedom.

I am hopelessly trapped.

He knows it too. The way he smirks while his slitted eyes gaze with the friendliness of a viper tells me so.

After a pregnant pause, he inches forward as I move in reverse. When my back smacks into the fence, I do a half turn and frantically try to reach for the top. Even when I stretch out my arms and rise on the tips of my toes, my fingers are still too far away to grab anything.

Foreign hands fasten themselves around my shoulders and force me back around. "You're spunky," the guy chuckles darkly. "I like that. Right when I saw you, I knew you'd be fun." Then, with one hand pressing me against the hard fence, he begins to graze my cheek with the coarse pad of his finger.

The repulsive touch makes my skin crawl and I tremble in disgust. When the finger keeps moving down my neck - heading for the zipper of my jacket - another burst of energy inspires me to do everything I can to get him off. I use my legs to push him away while I claw at the hand latched onto my shoulder. My short fingernails dig into his skin, but he does not detach. He does the opposite. His grip becomes stronger and he throws me into the fence.

"Listen, sweetheart," he warns between gritted teeth. "The more you try to fight this, the worse it's gonna be for you. You get me? All you gotta do is play nice for a while and you'll be fine." When I attempt to look away from him, he grabs my chin and jerks it back. Another smile that chills my blood spreads across his face. In a whisper, he adds, "You might even grow to like it."

I suck in a breath and try not to flinch at what he just said. I don't want to give this guy the satisfaction of knowing how afraid I am. But I'm sure it's plain to see.

Once he assumes that I am relinquishing control over to him, he moves back a few inches. While still holding me tightly with one hand, he tries to remove his baggy jacket. He manages to shrug it off one shoulder but his sleeve becomes stuck on his wrist. He has no choice but to use both hands to extract himself.

The second he releases me, my brain goes into overdrive. A torrent of ideas flood my brain all at once. Going around him is useless if I don't have a plan in place. He is too close and he will just grab me again. Running away right now is out of the question as well. I would need a decent headstart if I have want a shot at outrunning him.

My only hope is to catch him off guard. If I can hurt or distract him for a few seconds, maybe I can buy enough time to get away. I can use the self-defense technique Charlie once taught me. A swift strike up and into the nose. That would give me a few spare moments to move around him and get out of here. Maybe he'll even go down long enough for me to make it to that store I saw earlier.

Both of his arms are behind his back as he pulls out of a sleeve. I move in quickly. Thrusting the heel of my palm upwards into his face, I hear a tiny crunch and an irate howl. My heart lurches in my chest.

This is it. My one and only opportunity for escape.

As fast as I can, I slip around him and take approximately two steps before I am stopped. Something has snatched the fabric of my jacket and it yanks me backwards, slamming me into the fence. Next, both of my arms are bound above my head as I struggle to move. Eyes made of black ice appear inches away from my own. A horrifyingly familiar scent soon overwhelms my senses. My head spins. My stomach turns. Through my suddenly hazy eyesight, I spot a trickle of red blood dripping out of one of the man's flaring nostrils.

Yes, I hurt him. But not nearly enough. All I have done is angered him further. And on top of all that, my squeamishness to blood is happening at the worst possible time.

"You're going to pay for that, bitch!" he yells in my face. Moments later, I am put into a one-handed chokehold. My mouth gapes open - desperately gulping for air - but nothing gets past the grubby fingers that are sinking into my upper throat. My body instinctively squirms and writhes. His grip grows tighter. His eyes colder. This is no man. A human being would not do this to another of its kind. This is a _monster_. And I am at its mercy.

I am going to die.

As this realization dawns, all I can see is the monster's enraged face. His teeth are bared like a rabid animal's. A throbbing vein bulges from his temple. And even as he tries to choke the life out of me, the corners of his mouth can't help but slightly curve upwards.

I don't want him to be the last thing I see before I go. My eyes clamp themselves shut. I try to block everything out. My aching lungs. My frenzied heartbeat. My terror. Everything except for my thoughts are pushed from my mind.

This will hurt my parents. _Badly_. But Mom has Phil. He'll take care of her. She will be all right. I'm more worried about Charlie. All the family he has left is me. What will he do? Hopefully, his friends will be there for him. Maybe he'll even make up with Billy Black.

When the thought of Edward penetrates my thoughts, it breaks me further. The two of us have barely scratched the surface of what we might have been together. I'm in love with him. And he will never know. All we had were a few weeks of friendship and around three glorious days of something more. Will that be enough for him to remember me? The thought of being forgotten hurts more than anything.

While I am focusing on these questions, I overhear the psycho grumbling irritably and cursing. I don't pay attention to what he says. It is unimportant. I block his words out and go back to imagining kind green eyes and tousled hair.

A startled cry blasts into my ears at the same moment the monster's strangling fingers disappear from my neck. In disbelief at the sudden reprieve, my hand flies to my lower jaw and rubs at my sore throat. My mouth greedily sucks in oxygen. Feeling dizzy, I lean forward at the waist and try to collect myself. Why is the monster taking a break? Is this how he plays his game? Give the victim hope before taking it all away again?

A hand other than my own appears on the side of my face. My entire body jerks in response, believing that it is the man back to deliver more torture. But I soon notice that this hand is not the same. This one is gentle, handling me as though I am a piece of delicate China that may break if treated carelessly.

"Are you hurt?" a voice asks.

I could almost cry. I know that voice. Smokey. Smooth. And full of so much worry that it hurts my heart.

Now that I know that it is safe, I pry open my clamped eyelids and find Edward. He's staring back, eyes wide and anxious. The dark shadows in the alley can't hide the fear on his face.

I move my head back and forth. "I'm fine," I reply in a panting whisper. Because I am. Everything will be fine now. Edward is here with me. The monster is gone.

His eyes temporarily close and the strained look around them relaxes. A masculine thumb brushes against the same patch of skin that the man had fondled not long ago. But Edward's touch is so very different. Soothing, intimate, and healing. It erases the unpleasant memories the monster's touch left.

A loud moan nearby transforms Edward's gaze into steel. His head snaps left. I follow in the direction he is glaring and see my attacker slumped against the side of the brick wall. He leans forward, rubbing the back of his scalp. My heart sinks a little. He is still here. I had wrongly assumed that the guy had run away once Edward appeared.

Edward keeps tabs on the guy while digging around in his pocket. His cellphone comes out and he moves to hand it to me.

"Can you call the police?" he asks with his eyes narrowed on the figure across the alley.

I stand upright and rapidly blink my eyes as I take stock of myself. My dizziness is mostly gone. My throat only hurts slightly. The scent of blood is no longer being wafted in my face. I think I can make a phone call. "Yes," I answer, grabbing the phone from his outstretched palm.

Edward straightens into his full height and moves to put his body between myself and the man. Meanwhile, the guy lifts shakily from his slumped position on the ground, stretching and dusting himself off as he rises.

"Stay where you are," Edward orders, his previously gentle inflection now a growl.

I flip open the phone and begin dialing 9-1-1 as the guy wobbles in place. He looks back at Edward with an amused grin. A dark, sinister laugh cackles from his throat. "Don't think that I will," he counters airily.

As soon as the man says this, Edward's forehead lowers into a scowl. His hands harden into fists and his jaw clenches. Somehow, I know what is on his mind. He wants to fight. Even in the half dark I can see it in his blazing eyes. But the last thing I want is for him to risk his life fighting this guy. Yes, Edward stands much taller, but the stranger is built like a stone wall. I don't want Edward to get hurt. The two of us can just walk out of this alley, let me finish calling the police, and they'll find the man eventually.

Just as I am about to beg him to back off and leave the guy alone, a bunch of things happen all at once. Edward shoves his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and moves closer to the guy, entering an area where more light from the far away street lamp shines. Next, his shoulders roll and then hunch into a defensive position as he stares down the guy who stands ten feet away.

"Bella. Get as far back as you can," he directs without looking away from his soon-to-be opponent.

My eyes open so widely that they feel like they will pop out. The darkened shadows and muted lighting are giving Edward a new and unexpected look. The color of his pure white shirt now looks old and antiqued. The blue shade of his jeans, the flesh tone of his skin, and the unusual bronze of his hair are all in shades of warm cream and dark brown. Even the vibrant green of his irises are too dark to make out right now. It looks so strange that I am almost positive that if I were to snap a picture of him right now, his photo would blend in seamlessly with the old sepia photographs from 1914 we saw at the museum today.

But his nearly colorless appearance has a simple explanation. This shadowy alley is messing with my mind. It's just a trick of the light giving the optical illusion that he has been plucked from a decades-old photograph.

What I cannot explain is his fighting stance. It's odd and rigid. One of his arms is crossed near his chest. The other he holds stiffly out. Both hands are fisted tightly. That is not how people stand when they fight. At least not anyone from _this_ century. Weeks back, I watched a TV documentary with Charlie that showed pictures of a man who utilized a similar stance. His name was John L. Sullivan. He was a professional boxer.

And he's been dead almost ninety years.

Edward's head abruptly swings around and makes eye contact. The scowl vanishes and he studies me for a few moments. As I stand here paralyzed, his face softens.

"Please. Get back. I'll be OK," he insists, his eyes pleading with me to do as he asks.

At the same time, the cellphone I hold to my ear begins to connect to the call I made to the emergency dispatch. I blink and shake the weird train of thoughts from my head. I come to understand that he wants me to move so I will not get hurt during the impending brawl. I very much want to argue that he is being stupid. The risks to his safety are not worth it. But I can't. My words and thoughts are too jumbled to put up an effective argument. So, I slowly begin to move, walking backwards with my eyes fixed on him.

When I am around twenty feet away, Edward goes back to keeping his concentration centered on the psycho. The man is no longer wobbling and swaying. He is staring at Edward with an evil smirk and flexing his hands.

Edward lowers his head into a hate-filled glare. "If you take one step, I'll have to stop you."

The guy huffs a laugh and takes a huge step forward, stopping approximately three feet away from Edward. "What? Like this?" he taunts.

"Exactly," growls Edward right as his fist socks into the middle of the man's face.

I can hear the crack of cartilage. Next comes piercing screams of agony. The guy falls to the ground, clutching his bloodied face. "Shit! You broke my nose, you fuckin' asshole!"

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'll do it again," warns Edward.

"Clallam county 9-1-1," answers a voice at my ear.

I jump in place and clear my throat. I had been so focused on the goings on in front of me that I had forgotten that I was making a phone call. I give a basic explanation of what has happened and also give the emergency operator an approximate location of where we are.

Meanwhile, the man on the ground gnashes his teeth and his eyes turn murderous. He leaps up and attacks like a charging rhino. Edward waits until the guy is nearly on top of him before he side steps out of the way. The bloody-faced guy's momentum causes him to fly right on by his target. He almost collides into the opposite wall of the alley before he stops himself.

The guy readies himself for another attack, his hairy knuckles balling into a fist. My breath catches. He's going to _punch_ Edward.

"_Please_ tell the police to hurry," I urge the emergency operator.

For his part, Edward appears unafraid of what is coming. Still in his peculiar defensive stance, he watches the man launch across the open space. Right as the man's meaty hand rises to hit him, Edward ducks down and uses his long arms to his advantage. His fists pummel the man's gut like two battering rams, over and over again. The man slumps over, holding his injured waist. He groans and levels a glower at the bronze-haired boy who delivered the painful blows.

"_Bastard_," he yells, the insult bouncing off the alley walls.

Edward's lips press together. Taking a step forward, he grabs the guy by the front of the shirt and his fist gives one final blow. With eyes rolling into the back of his head, the guy drops to the ground and doesn't try to get back up. Edward kneels down and places his fingers on the veins of the man's wrist. From my vantage point, I see the guy's chest rising and falling. He is still alive. But once he wakes back up, he'll probably wish he wasn't judging by his painful looking injuries.

"And I think we're going to need an ambulance," I mumble into the cellphone, eyes stretched wide in awe.

I'm explaining to the 9-1-1 operator that my attacker now lies unconscious on the concrete when Edward appears by my side. Looking him up and down, I can find no signs of trauma. Only his knuckles appear redder than normal. Seconds later, I hear the unmistakable sound of a police siren. The cruiser soon pulls up nearby and a police officer rushes up to us. I inform the emergency operator that help has arrived and end the phone call.

"He's over there," Edward says to the officer, pointing into the darkened alleyway. We watch the officer checking the unmoving man on the ground for a moment. Soon I hand back Edward's phone, but he shakes his head and moves to give it back. "You need to call your father," he explains.

I take a step back and stare up at him in shock. Is he crazy? Did he get knocked on the head after all? I can't call _Charlie_ and tell him what happened! He'll have an aneurism. Then he'll make this a huge deal and believe that I can't handle being alone ever again. He'll lock me in the house and only let me out for school and doctor appointments.

"Absolutely not! He'll go ballistic," I hiss.

"We are still considered minors, Bella. The police will insist that your guardian be notified."

We enter into a miniature staring contest. I'm glaring up at him while he's looking back solemnly, unmoved by my argument. And, even worse, I come to see that he is right. We're both seventeen. The cops will call our parents whether we like it or not.

Stupid adulthood laws.

My eyes roll and I reluctantly snatch the phone back. "Why can't you ever be wrong?" I scowl in retaliation. Since he knows that this is a rhetorical question, he does not give a reply.

I dial in the first few digits of our phone number until my contact information pops up. The phone begins to ring. My annoyance gradually is replaced with nervousness.

"_Hello_," answers Charlie.

"Dad?" I softly mutter, my bottom lip firmly wedged underneath my canine.

_"That you, Bells?"_ he asks confusedly.

I make my voice louder and squirm in place. "Yeah. Umm... I kinda need you to come to Port Angeles for me."

"_Hmm? Why? Did Edward's car break down? Do I need to bring jumper cables?"_

"No, his car is fine," I reply uneasily.

_"Then what is it then?"_ he asks. Charlie pauses and his tone becomes sharp as a knife. "_Did that boy leave you stranded? He better not have ditched you."_

My forehead furrows at his false assumption. "No, Dad, he _did not _ditch me," I snap irritably.

As quickly as my annoyance came, it disappears just as fast. I need to just get this over with. At any minute, that police officer is going to come up to me and start asking questions. And if Charlie overhears any part of it, he will flip. I need to be the one to tell him the basics and pointedly remind him that I am neither dead nor injured.

Inhaling a large gulp of air, I say rapidly in one breath, "I need you to come cause some guy tried to attack me, but I'm perfectly fine right now and he's going to be arrested so there's no reason for you to-"

"_I'm coming right now! And, for god's sakes, don't go off on your own! __Stay with the officer in charge!" _he bellows before slamming the phone down.

"Panic," I breathe out, completing what I had been trying to tell Charlie before he did exactly as I had feared.

Folding the cellphone shut, I hand it back to Edward. He deftly plucks it from my palm as I pout up at him. "It happened just like I thought it would. He is going to crash the car trying to get here as fast as he can."

Edward looks back sympathetically but does not otherwise respond. All does is drop his phone back into his pants pocket. My eyes squint accusingly. He insisted that I call Charlie and reminded me that the police will want our guardians present tonight. Yet here he is not doing anything to notify _his_ family.

"Don't you need to call your parents, _too_?" I point out.

Two more police cars drive up with lights flashing. Edward nonchalantly slides his hands into his pockets as he watches them exit their vehicles. "I was on the phone with Alice when I saw you were missing. She was worried when she found out you were gone, so I'm sure that she let Carlisle know."

My brows pucker at his explanation. It makes sense in some ways while it does not in others. How could Edward just assume that Alice knew that my sudden disappearance was serious enough to inform Carlisle? What if there had been an innocent explanation? I could have gotten out of the car to stretch my legs or something similarly tame. Just because he found me gone from the Volvo does not necessarily mean that something terrible happened. Of course, something terrible _had_ happened. But that's what makes this so strange.

And - now that I'm thinking about it - another curious anomaly burns in my brain. I ran down and around a city block. Then, that guy dragged me off into a dark alley way off the beaten path.

So, how was Edward able to find me in time?

As these thoughts are puzzling me, a female police officer strides up and asks for us to move away from the mouth of the alley. Once we are standing by a police cruiser, she starts asking for my side of what happened tonight. I start from the moment I was browsing the new age store's window display all the way until I am being strangled. Occasionally, I peek at Edward and see the muscles in his neck strain whenever I describe what the man had put me through.

When I end my story with Edward's appearance, she looks at me expectantly. "You told the 9-1-1 operator that the man you say attacked you was now attacking someone else." She nods towards Edward and adds, "Was that you? What happened?"

A touch of worry makes me speak up before Edward can. There is a part of me that is afraid that they will think he overreacted and beat the guy up needlessly.

"Yeah," I jump in. "That was Edward. He pulled that man right off me. Then the guy tried to go after _him_ a few times. But Edward fought back. All it took was a couple of punches and the man was knocked out... I think he had been drinking." I skip over the part where Edward looked like a pro boxer from 1885. I don't need to be sent off to the psych ward. Charlie has enough headaches to deal with tonight.

"Is that true?" the officer asks Edward.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies.

The officer jots something down. "You say your car is parked on Sinclair Street. That's a pretty good walk away from here. How did you find her so quickly?"

Edward's eyes dart to me and back to the police officer's face. "Blind luck. I had a bad feeling when I did not see her anywhere around, so I took off running. If I hadn't heard him screaming, I likely would have went right on by."

We hear a loud screech and all three of us turn towards the sound. My attacker is awake again. Another police officer has flipped him over and is slapping cuffs on his wrists. The entire time he groans and attempts to wiggle free. A second officer sits on the man's legs to keep them from flailing around. Once he is properly restrained, they pull him up and escort him to another police cruiser. As he passes nearby, I study the changes in him. His nose points to the side more than is natural. His right eye is sealed shut and swollen. Blood leaks from his nose and busted lip.

I turn away from that gruesome sight and study someone much more worthy of my time. Edward monitors the procession as they lead the guy away, his face calm except for his narrowed green eyes. He has always been so reserved and polite. Who knew that a fighter lay hidden underneath his hunky exterior? Mike should count his blessings, I guess. If Edward wasn't so kind and had no self-control, he might have punched Mike out a long time ago.

**00000000000000000000**

Edward and I are sitting in a room at the Port Angeles Police Department. After being driven here in a police cruiser, we've been stuck in this waiting area for what feels like forever. In truth, it's only been like ten minutes. But I think being inside this place is messing with the passing of time. It's ticking by painfully slow.

A man who introduced himself as Detective Anderson stands in the corner, watching us until our parents arrive. I keep wishing he would leave the room and stop looking this way. But that is unlikely now. Everyone here knows who I am. Or, to be more precise, they know who my _father_ is. The Chief Of Police of Forks actually means something here. As soon as I informed them of my parentage, I went from being normal victim to a near celebrity. Now the detective over there won't stop prowling around the room - as if he thinks it's his duty to protect me until his colleague from Forks shows up. Edward tried asking him a few questions but he won't give up any answers, saying that everything will be discussed once our families arrive.

It's bad enough that I almost died thirty minutes ago. Why must I be stuck at a police station on a Saturday night too? I've already explained what happened. I hate this formality. Can't they understand that I just want to go home and stop thinking about it?

A large hand takes my own and a familiar thumb caresses my fingers. Edward has been watching too, but I don't mind as much. So far he has only comforted me. He is the one thing that makes being here not as bad.

I very badly want to ask _him_ a few questions. Scratch that - _a lot of questions_. If there wasn't anyone in this room except us, I would probably ask at least a couple. Of course, since privacy isn't possible, I just smile weakly at him and continue to hold on to his hand.

Breezing into the waiting area, Carlisle and Esme are immediately stopped at the door by Detective Anderson. He gets in their way and demands to know their identities.

Carlisle looks at Edward and me before addressing the detective's question. Wrapping an arm around Esme's waist, he says, "We're Edward's parents."

The detective looks askance at them for several beats and takes a quick peek at Edward. His brow arches skeptically.

"We adopted him," Esme proudly adds, smiling sweetly up at the disbelieving police officer.

The detective's eyes become round and he stares dazedly at her for an inappropriately long time. Carlisle makes a show of clearing his throat which helps bring the detective back to Earth. "Oh, yes," Detective Anderson quickly says, looking away from the beauty which temporarily blinded him. "Now I understand."

Esme puts a damper on her smile and reveals a worried face. "We were here in town when our daughter called and told us that our Edward was in trouble. We came as soon as we could." She pauses and stares longingly across the room. "May I see him now?"

The detective rapidly bobs his dusty blonde head and does a sweeping motion with his arm, granting her entrance. At the same time, Edward rises from his seat and I follow. A second later, Esme zips across the room and simultaneously grabs Edward and me into a bone-crushing hug. Her body is hard as granite. I didn't realize she works out. She's a lot stronger than she looks.

"I'm so thankful that you are both all right. When Alice told us that you two were in trouble, I was so frantic," she frets, her voice muffled by Edward's shirt. He awkwardly pats her back as if consoling her, yet the expression on his face looks almost embarrassed.

Once she has had her fill of squeezing us, she backs up a few inches and thoroughly studies our faces. Her golden eyes squint suspiciously. "You are '_all right_', aren't you?" she presses.

I nod and wrap my arms around my chest. "We're perfectly fine. Not even a scratch."

Still standing near the doorway, Carlisle asks, "What about the attacker? Where is he?"

Edward flashes a vaguely annoyed look at Detective Anderson before answering the question. "I don't know. They haven't told us anything new since we came here."

"We are waiting for the suspect to be released from the emergency room before we book him," Anderson announces.

"That answers my question," Carlisle sighs. He turns slowly and catches Edward's eye. "I guess you're to blame for _that_?"

The air of confidence that Edward normally exudes evaporates. He lowers his gaze to the carpet. "You guess correctly, I'm afraid."

Carlisle's pale lips purse while his fair head tilts ruminatively. "I thought so."

"Doctor Cullen?" interrupts Anderson.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Detective Anderson. I'd like for the three of you to come with me, please. I need to question your son a little more before he leaves." Then, Anderson moves to the door as though to usher them out. Esme glides to Carlisle's side, and they wait patiently for Edward to join them.

But he makes no move to leave the room. In fact, he moves closer to _me_ than the door.

"I can't leave her alone here, sir," declares Edward.

"She won't be alone. I'll send out Officer Lopez to wait with her until her father shows up."

Edward frowns at the detective and goes to sit right back down in his chair. Crossing his arms, he says, "I just spent the darkest moments of my life not knowing where she was or if she was OK, sir. So, if you don't mind, I think I will wait until Chief Swan arrives before I go _anywhere_. After that, I'll do whatever you want."

They lock eyes and say nothing for a short time. I begin worrying that Edward will get into trouble for not following orders, but that doesn't happen. Something must have been silently communicated between the two of them - because the next thing I know - Anderson nods his head and agrees to Edward's wishes.

I sit back down next to him and he takes my hand into a gentle grasp once again. My eyes close gratefully and I try to relax. Being alone with some stranger - even if it _is_ a police officer - would not have been good for me. Although I hate feeling weak and clingy, I know that having people that I know and trust close by is better for me right now.

Esme and Carlisle sit across from us and occasionally question Edward instead of asking me anything, which I appreciate. But mostly they distract, which I appreciate even more. They chitchat over inconsequential things, their voices blending together like a symphony. Sometimes Esme offers to track down food and water, but mostly she just smiles encouragingly.

Edward and I have been trapped inside of this godforsaken waiting room for around forty-five minutes when I hear stomping footsteps echoing down the hall. Seconds later, a man with wide, panicked brown eyes stands at the door. I almost don't recognize him. Charlie Swan never looked like _this_ before. Even that time he stumbled upon a snake while cutting grass in the backyard, he was not afraid.

He bursts into the room and heads straight to me. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he pulls me up into a standing position and wraps his arm around me tightly. My mouth gapes in shock. Hugging is something else Charlie Swan _never_ does. He lets you know he cares by feeding you and making sure you have the gas money to make it back home every evening. Touching of any kind is rare. And touching while in view of witnesses is practically unheard of. I think the last time he did this was when I scraped my knee on the driveway at five years old. That hug was the only thing that stopped my uncontrollable crying.

He releases me eventually and looks up and down. "Did you get hurt at all?"

"I told you on the phone. I'm fine. There's _nothing_ wrong with me."

Charlie examines me a little more before he takes me at my word. His eyes shut and he exhales a gust of air. The hysterical energy slowly dwindles until he almost looks like his normal self.

As I am taking comfort in the fact that he is calming down, another change in him occurs. His eyes snap back open and land on Edward, standing a couple of feet away.

"You were supposed to look out for her," snarls Charlie.

The room goes deathly still. It is suddenly quiet enough for me to hear as well as see Edward's wince and intake of breath.

If there is one thing I cannot take, it is Edward being mistreated.

Charlie comes in here with guns blazing without even knowing all of the facts. If he had waited five minutes and allowed us to explain, Charlie would see that Edward should be thanked for what he did - not chastised.

My hands ball into fists and I stand taller, glaring at my idiotic father. "Don't you dare try to blame him. If you want to blame someone - blame me._ I_ was the one that got out of the car when Edward went inside that store._ I_ was the one that couldn't get away from that guy. It's all _me_," I emphasize heatedly.

Charlie gapes back at me, a little paler than before. I don't let up though. I inhale and exhale a couple of times to even out my pounding heartbeat before I press on. "Edward was the one that found me. I would probably be _dead_ right now if it wasn't for him. He doesn't deserve for you to treat him that way."

Recoiling at the truth, the word _dead_ is enough to make him regret his ridiculous attack against Edward. Suddenly, he appears much older - exhausted in both body and spirit. He massages his weary eyes and sighs. "You're right, Bells," he admits somberly.

By degrees, Charlie's hand drops and he searches for and finds the messy-haired boy he just hurt. "I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you," he begins. "I spent the entire drive thinking the worst. I should have asked before I assumed anything. I'm sorry, Edward."

Although I kind of want Edward to milk this apology for what it's worth since Charlie rarely grants these things, I know that he isn't that kind of a person. A tiny bit of the strain leaves his face and he nods his head. "I understand. I would feel the same way," he replies, his voice low and rumbling.

The detective steps in and reminds us that we have to be interviewed. Edward quietly squeezes my hand before he leaves me with Charlie. I am led to another detective - a woman - since they insist it will "make it easier" for me to open up about what happened. I hate to tell them this, but that is not going to help. She is a stranger just as much as Detective Anderson. I will feel uncomfortable regardless of who I speak to.

Did I know my attacker?

Why was I out walking alone?

Who made contact first and why?

Did I feel that I was in danger at any point?

Was I threatened physically or verbally in any way?

Was I touched, fondled, or assaulted sexually?

She keeps finding new, creative ways to ask questions that I have already answered on multiple occasions. How many more times must I explain that he strangled me within an inch of my life? Why should it even matter that I didn't scream during the chase nor the attack? Does that diminish his crime?

Eventually, Charlie butts in to say that I have been interviewed long enough. He starts questioning _her_, pestering her for information about my attacker and his current whereabouts. Having the spotlight moved off of me and on to the detective makes me happy to have a father in law enforcement. This is probably the first time I have ever connected happiness with his career.

She informs him of the man's name which I promptly block out. I don't want to know anything about him personally. As long as he is locked up somewhere, I don't need his life story.

We leave her desk once he feels satisfied that he has received all of the relevant information, and we walk out into the main entrance area. I'm surprised when I see Edward standing there all alone, his back propped against a wall. I thought he would have gone home after his interview.

The two of us join him, and surprisingly, Charlie speaks first. "His name is Alonzo Calderas Wallace if what his ID shows is true. They're running a background check on him as we speak - though that should take awhile to complete. They have him locked up at the county jail for now."

Edward runs his hand through his chaotic mane of hair and sighs. "Thank you for telling me. Detective Anderson was rather hush-hush with me whenever I tried to ask a question about the man."

While Charlie fills him in on the news, I scan the lobby for signs of Carlisle and Esme. I see none. The only other person here besides us is a police officer stationed at a desk. "Where's your parents?" I ask.

"They went home," he replies simply.

Charlie watches the two of us, his attention flicking back and forth. Once Edward finishes speaking, Charlie's mouth purses and he rocks on his heels. "I think I'll stay here until more info on this Wallace guy shows up."

My eyebrows knit together, bewildered by this newfound desire of his. Before we came out here, he made no mention of staying any longer. I thought we were leaving and heading back to Forks.

Edward looks between us for a moment. "I can take Bella home, sir. I don't think she would be very comfortable here."

Charlie gazes down at me, his head and brow cocked expectantly. "What do you say, Bells?"

I examine his face and see a message behind his chocolate brown eyes. Thanks to the interview he sat through, he knows the whole story of tonight. Now he knows exactly what Edward did.

I think Edward has just earned Charlie Swan's trust.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, I glance away from Charlie and look across the room. "Yeah. That sounds good," I agree softly.

"OK. Head straight home then. No side trips. I'll be calling the house at 10:30."

My face swings back alarmed. "But I left my truck at Newton's. I don't think Mr. and Mrs. Newton would appreciate having it parked there all night long."

His mustache twitches reluctantly a few times. "Fine. Get it, then go straight home."

Edward jumps in and says, "I'll make sure she makes it back home. I'll follow behind her."

Charlie doesn't speak. He nods at Edward and gives me one last glance. Then he swivels around and walks back into the offices to go harass his Port Angeles counterparts for information.

Edward and I head back outside into the cool night air. I follow behind him like a lost lamb, not really paying attention to where we are going. When we walk up to a shiny silver car, I stop short and stare. His car shouldn't be here at the police station. We hitched a ride in a police cruiser.

"I thought you left your car across town?" I say.

He takes his time in unlocking the car. Once he gets it open, he meets my eye. "Esme picked it up for me on her way here."

Biting down on my lip, I slide into the car and he gently closes my door. I watch him pass around the front and struggle to absorb his explanation.

How could Esme have found his car before being told where it was? I guess Edward could have told Alice where we were when I came up missing, and then Alice notified Esme. But, that leads to something much more strange. Carlisle and Esme showed up at the police station ten to fifteen minutes after we arrived. How did they do so much in so little time? They had to get Alice's phone call, leave wherever they were, hop in their car, track down Edward's car, and drive it all the way here. Does she drive even faster than Edward?

He fires up the engine and we merge onto the streets of Port Angeles. The music on his sound system has been turned down to a soft murmur. The roads are blanketed in a light mist, making it more difficult to see. Edward drives carefully, his eyes flicking here and there as we pass through the late evening traffic. He doesn't appear to relax until we reach the lonesome highway which leads back to Forks.

We enter into a quiet spell and my thoughts take control. Ever since he stepped out into the eerie lighting of that alley, my brain has been replaying that image on a loop. _Everything_ about it was weird. His colors were faded. His fighting position was stiff and old-fashioned. Yet, strangest of all, I don't believe he has ever looked more beautiful.

My nails lightly trace the rough denim of my jeans. I stare straight ahead but nothing I see is getting through. All I can think about is the stack of curious details and unanswered questions that are piling up. Every time I think I know everything about Edward and his everyday life, I discover something else that rocks me to my core. He boxes like a long dead champion fighter. The Quileutes are strangely protective of him. His adopted family are seen as a threat to some while being praised by others.

Yet, even though I am left puzzled by all of these things, I am at least aware of them. What I don't know is what his life was like before he set foot in Washington. Was it just as crazy? I have no idea.

As the minutes pass, it dawns on me that I have been granted a perfect opportunity to question him. It's hard to overcome the worry though. I am aware that he is hesitant to discuss his biological family. His life in Chicago is something that he only brings up during certain times. The things he reveals are usually mundane. A mention of his mother's love of the arts here. A casual hint of his father's voracious appetite there. That's the extent of what I know. He never speaks fondly of friends left behind. He never discusses what his school life was like. He has never even hinted at his past dating experiences. I'm sure there is at least one girl in Chicago who misses his company.

I care about him. Daresay, I believe that I have fallen in love with this boy. He's a smart, quick witted, sincere person that makes me smile more than I ever have. But, do I _truly_ know him? I have always suspected that he hides himself from the public at large. Yes, he has been more open with me. Sometimes he even gives me pieces of his thoughts, dreams, and personality that helps fill in the blanks. Yet, I know there is much more he chooses not to share. It's something about his eyes that lets me know.

I decide to start things slow. I'll see how he reacts to a simple question concerning what happened tonight that I still don't quite understand.

Turning away from the road, I quietly observe him. He's passing around another slow moving car, his bronzed eyebrows slightly lowered in concentration. I wait until we are safely ahead before I speak.

"How did you find me?"

Edward's head whips around with a hint of a puzzled expression which quickly fades away. Going back to keeping an eye on the road, he shrugs a shoulder. "I have no idea. I ran until I heard screaming."

"You told that police officer that it was 'blind luck'."

"It _was_ luck. Something took over me and led me to you. I don't know how I did it. I'm just thankful that I did. I'm not going to question it."

My face falls to my lap and I berate myself. He said that so passionately that I feel a tad bit of shame for questioning his story. I am being irrationally paranoid. What did I expect for him to say? That he has a built-in tracker hidden somewhere in my clothes and that's how he found me?

But my curious nature has found enough fuel to keep it burning for hours. My next question forms inside of my head and demands to be said aloud.

"Edward? Where did you learn to fight?" I ask in a whisper.

"My father."

It takes time for me to compute his reply. Then I am mystified. Edward's biological father was a lawyer. Why would he need to know how to fight like that?

"Why?" I press with knitted forehead.

Edward remains silent for a short time before he speaks. During his explanation, he alternates between watching me and paying attention to the road ahead.

"He thought that I should know how to defend myself. When I was around twelve, there were a couple of boys from my school that enjoyed torturing the underclassmen - and I was one of those victims quite a few times. When my father found out, he took me into the backyard and began my first lesson. Every weekend for two years, he taught me everything that he knew," he drifts off introspectively. He wiggles in the driver's seat for a moment and readjusts his hand's' position on the steering wheel. "I learned a lot. By the time I turned fifteen, he was no longer teaching me - we just spared for the fun of it."

My head jars at this revelation. What kind of a dad punches their _kid_ in the face for sport?

"The fun of it?" I repeat incredulously.

A hint of a smile twitches his lips. "Well, yes. It was one of the only ways he could forget about the troubles from his job and just relax. He was an excellent lawyer. He always fought tooth and nail on his cases - no matter if he thought the case was important or frivolous. Though, once he slipped on his gloves in our yard, he became his old self again."

"What do you mean?"

"He was something of a boxer when he was younger. That's how he paid his tuition for college," answers Edward with a growing grin.

My heart stutters in my chest. No wonder Edward so easily beat the snot out of that guy tonight. "He was a boxer?"

"Umm hmm. He was originally a farm boy from Iowa. His parents had a farm where they grew corn and raised animals." Pausing his story, he peeks at me and chuckles, "You know. Typical farm life. But he _hated_ it. So, once he graduated high school, he travelled to Chicago to get a job and intended to save up enough cash to attend Northwestern University. The job he eventually got wasn't quite as lucrative as he had hoped. He barely had enough for his rent and food, let alone enough to save to go towards his dream. It was a rough existence for him at that time."

His previously curving mouth becomes a thin line. "So... One night, he said that he decided to have a night on the town and stop worrying about continuing his education. He was basically giving up. While he wandered the streets, he noticed a flyer hanging on the side of a building that advertised a boxing match being held that night just a few blocks away. Having nothing better to do, he decided to go watch the fight. He said that the fight was disappointing to everyone who watched it - it was over in a matter of less than a minute. But, then he saw that _both_ of the fighters had walked away with a large wad of money. He was instantly interested. He had a little experience at boxing his friends and neighbors back home. That's when he tracked down the owner of the establishment that ran the fight that night.

"He boxed off and on for two years after that. He never became famous or anything, but he was able to earn enough money for tuition and his living expenses at Northwestern. He liked to say that the time he spent in the ring prepared him for his future life in the courtroom. After I was old enough to watch him in court, I had to agree with him," he ends with twisted mouth.

My face gazes out of my passenger side window. It's too dark and the fog too thick to make out anything but vague outlines of trees and sporadic houses. But my mind is busy forming a picture - a picture of a man who once greatly influenced Edward's life and still does so beyond the grave. It was his father's dream for them both to be attorneys one day. Edward has admitted that he did not wish for that fate, yet he never said so to his parents. Partly because of that, I had assumed that his father was a harsh, strict disciplinarian. I envisioned him too caught up in his career to pay attention to his son.

But I must have been wrong on that front. He cared enough for Edward's well-being to teach him how to defend himself. I still don't quite get the "fun" aspect of boxing your kid in the backyard. But, hey, who am I to judge?

Slowly, it occurs to me that if Edward's father fought for two years, he probably would have been known in the boxing circuit. I am sure he would have been mentioned in newspapers and sporting magazines. I bet I could find something about his career. Maybe I'll even find a photo and see if he used that same, unusual fighting stance as his son.

I try to calculate when his boxing career would have taken place. Edward would have been born around 1987. So, if his dad was a boxer before Edward was born, this likely means that he boxed sometime during the late '70s to mid '80s.

My mouth frowns at how long ago that would have been. That makes it less likely that I'll find anything about his boxing career on the internet. But since he worked at a attorney's firm before he passed away, maybe they would have a little "about me" page devoted to him on their website. I'm sure adding that this particular lawyer fought inside of court as well as the boxing ring would have been a great draw for business.

It has been a while since I have spoken. When I turn away from my window, I see that Edward has been keeping an eye on me during my quiet reverie. His lips are pressed tightly together, as though worried or anxious over something.

"What was his name?" I ask, trying to make it sound like my question is completely innocent and that I don't plan on cyber stalking him or his family as soon as I can.

"Same as mine. Edward Anthony," he answers. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, matching the melodic rhythm coming from the car's speakers. Suddenly, the tapping halts and his head snaps to his right. "What's your full name? You've never told me."

Trying not to cringe at the question, I go back to pretending that I am interested in the landscape outside of my window. I _despise_ my first name. And when you tack my middle name on to it, the sound makes me want to hurl. What were my parents thinking when it was time to give me a name? They must have said something like:

_Let's give our mousy-haired, plain baby a name that sounds like she is a descendant of a former monarch of Catalonia_. _She will forever feel unworthy and spend the first ten years of her life begging for us to change it to something less regal. _

"My middle name is Marie," I reply apprehensively, making no mention of my much hated given name.

"_Isabella Marie_," he says in a soft rasp.

I whirl back around. "Please don't say that out loud. I _hate_ it."

His forehead wrinkles and he looks over at me. "What? _Isabella_?"

My nose scrunches and I fidget uncomfortably. "Yes. It sounds too formal for a girl like me."

His head rocks back and forth and he locks eyes with me. "Oh, but I have to disagree with you there. Your name is beautiful. And I think it suits you well."

I shake my head back at him and release a disgruntled sigh at how a seemingly brilliant boy can be so wrong.

"Will you tell me more?" I urge, steering the conversation away from me and back on to something much more mentally stimulating - _him_.

"Anything you want."

My interest is piqued. He has _never_ said anything like this before. "Will you tell me about your family?"

"OK. What would you like to know?"

I suck on my bottom lip and try to think straight. I have a little information on his father. But I have very little on his other family members. "What was your mother's name?"

His Adam's apple quivers in his throat. After a short pause, he breathes out, "Elizabeth."

"And what was she like?"

"Kind. Loving. Funny. She was a wonderful person to be around. She always tried to find the bright side to things, even when they looked grim."

"Where was she from?"

"She was from Chicago. Her father was a founder of the firm my father eventually joined. That's how my parents met."

"What did they look like?"

"My father and I looked similar. We were the same height. Same facial structure. But he was darker than I am. His skin was naturally tan and his hair was almost black in color." Edward breaks into a grin and points at his head. "And he's the reason why my hair is the way it is," he laughs.

His laughter fades. Both his voice and smile soften wistfully. "I inherited my _mother's_ hair color and eyes. She was quite a bit taller than most women. She had a certain, unexplainable grace when she walked. Even strangers on the street would sometimes stop to watch her. She had a mysterious quality that seemed to fascinate everyone she met."

I smile at his description. He must not realize that he inherited that part of himself from her too. I try to picture his parents now that I have a general idea of their appearance. They must have been very good-looking if their son is anything like them.

However, someone is missing from this picture. Edward has mentioned a couple of times that his family employed a housekeeper who died at some point in time. I have less information about her than even his parents. I can't even remember her name.

"You had a housekeeper, too, didn't you?"

His bronze head nods while his eyes droop. "Martha," he answers after a prolonged sigh. "She was more like my grandmother that just happened to be employed by us. She was with my parents before I was even born. Whenever I was being a terror back when I was a boy, I had to withstand a scolding from both my mother _and_ Martha. To this very day, I'm not sure which woman I feared the most when it came time to receive my punishment." He chuckles, rubbing his jaw bashfully. A large smile takes over my face as I imagine what little Edward must have looked like when he was in trouble. I envision a cute pouting mouth, big remorseful eyes, and bronze hair sticking up in all directions. I don't see how they could have punished him if he was as adorable as I picture. They must have had to cover their eyes whenever they sentenced him to time out.

The grin on his face dies as he continues. "She was kind, but feisty. Funny, but stern when it came time to work... I miss her."

My smile falls along with his. "What happened to them, Edward?"

Facing the road, his eyelids clamp shut for a moment, as though saying the words out loud is incredibly painful. "They caught a strain of the flu. It gave them various health complications. It killed them all - one by one."

I suck in a breath. I thought that the deaths took place over a long period of time. He makes it sound like it was sudden and quick. They were there one moment, and all gone the next.

My head shakes in shame at my behavior. He offers to talk about anything I would like, and here I go reopening old wounds for the sake of curiosity.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," I apologize, chewing my lip.

"I disagree. You need to know. I _want_ you to know," he stresses with shining, determined eyes. "Don't be afraid to ask me whatever you want."

My head nods but I can't shake off the guilt. Is it wrong for me to want to know more even though he has admitted so much tonight? It doesn't seem right to ask about anything else right now - especially considering that Google might answer a few things.

I keep my mouth shut until the lights of Forks come into view. In just a few minutes, I will be home. However, an important fact comes to light. If I am going to Google him and his family, I need to make sure that he hasn't lived anywhere else.

"Did you ever live anywhere besides Chicago?" I blurt, my hands trembling nervously.

He gazes back watchfully. "No. It's only been Chicago and Forks for me."

Worried that he will see right through me, I make my shaking fingers grab the zipper of my jacket and run it up and down its track. To distract him, I switch to another topic that I have often wondered. "Where will you go after you graduate?"

"I've no idea," he shrugs. The car turns into the sporting goods store's parking area. "I suppose it will depend on a few different factors that I don't know the answers to yet."

Edward parks and shuts off the motor. I get out of his car and move closer to my vehicle, but my eye stays on him. "Thanks for dropping me off," I faintly smile once he meets me by my truck's door. "It would have driven me crazy to know that my truck was sitting in an empty lot all night long."

"Dropping off?" he repeats, arching a brow.

"Well, yeah. I have my truck now. I can make it home all right."

Edward's forehead scrunches together and he gives a disapproving look. "You want me to just drive off and leave you here all alone? What if you have an accident?"

"I'll be careful. My house is what? Five minutes away? I think I can make it there in one piece."

"Bella, I promised your father that I would follow you home."

"He'll never know."

"Perhaps. But _I'll_ know, Bella," he fires back, jabbing his thumb into his ribcage.

My arms fold at my chest. "This is ridiculous. You have done enough for me today. You should go home and relax. Besides, Carlisle and Esme are probably wondering what's keeping you so long."

He matches my stance and stares back intently. "I will get no sleep tonight if I am not certain you made it safely home. There is no use in arguing. I am following behind you and walking you to your front door."

I roll my eyes to the night sky, stomp to the driver's side of my truck, and climb inside. "You're starting to sound just like Charlie, you know," I huff before I slam the door.

My insult doesn't bother him. He stuffs his long legs back into his car and trails behind me as I drive down the near dead streets of Forks. Now that I am in my truck's cab, my left leg bounces nervously. This is the first time I have been alone since "the incident". That's how the police referenced it whenever they were around me. It got on my nerves at first. It sounds so generic. But now I prefer it. It doesn't elaborate needlessly on what happened.

Memories from the alley try to invade as I drive. I find my eyes darting to the rearview mirror more and more. Edward's headlights shine twenty feet behind me. Although I wish I could at least make out his silhouette, I am still grateful that he is there. Thank goodness he didn't listen to me. I never thought I would say _that_.

I'm turning onto my street when I remember that tonight was supposed to be special. Not only did I go on my first date, it was a first date with _Edward_. It would have been perfect if I hadn't run into that psycho guy. My frequent bad luck _just had_ to put in an appearance. So instead of ending our night with a romantic stroll along the Port Angeles Pier, we held hands in a police waiting room. That alone should make Edward want to rethink if he wants to have a relationship with the likes of me.

My mouth curves downwards and guilt weaves its way into my consciousness. After all he has done for me today, I never so much as said thank you. And rather than be appreciative for escorting me home, I snapped at him for it.

I pull into the grass of the front yard while Edward parks at the street in his usual spot. He joins me and stays at my side as I travel the walkway to the front porch.

Once the door unlocks, I pivot around until I can see his face. "Thanks for following me home," I begin softly.

His rigid shoulders drop as he gazes back. "You needn't thank me for doing something that I _want_ to do."

A warm sensation envelopes my chest and I give a slight smile in return. "There's a lot of things I need to thank you for that I haven't gotten around to do yet. I realized that I never thanked you for tonight."

"Thank me?"

A strand of hair blows in my face and I move it out of the way. "You know. Before it turned crazy...tonight was nice."

His eyes flash while his head shakes violently back and forth. "You shouldn't thank me for the trouble I put us through, Bella. I need to _apologize_. Because of my lack of foresight, I ruined the night. I want you to know that I would rather have suffered in your place than have put you through the-"

My forefinger lands on his moving lips. He stares back questioningly, his brows drawing together. "Don't," I command in a hushed tone. "Just don't. None of this was your fault."

I can see that he doesn't buy it. He is in self-flagellation mode, beating himself up for something he had no control over.

When he does not attempt to speak over me, my finger falls away from his mouth. "I don't regret anything," I insist. "Sure, I wish I hadn't gotten out of that car like I did, but I can't undo that now. I think I've learned more about you today than I have in all the time we've known each other. So, don't you _dare_ try to tell me you're sorry, Edward Masen. Because I'm not sorry one bit."

I back up a step and he blinks a few times. "Your mind works in mysterious ways," he slowly drawls. "I'm not sure that I can understand your logic, but I'll do as you ask regardless."

"That's better," I lightly tease, presenting a small smile in return. My hand grabs the front door knob and twists it open. Leaning inside, I blindly search for the switch until the living room is bathed in light.

"Make sure all the doors are locked and the windows are shut," he says once I turn back around.

"I will."

"Do you remember my number?"

"Yes. It's up in my room."

"Call if you need me, OK?"

I do a decent job of not rolling my eyes at his excessive worrying. "I know."

Edward's head tilts forward, making his eyes bore into mine. "Promise me."

My face scrunches irritably. "Stop worrying. I'll be in the house. I'll be _fine_."

"_Bella_," he groans.

I heave out a long sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. "OK. I promise I'll call if I need help. _Happy now_?"

"Yes."

I draw in another breath and revert to my previous calm state. I look him square in the eye and attempt to soothe his anxiety. "I'm serious. I'll be fine," I say gently.

He nods and quickly runs his hand through his hair. "I know. I'll call you tomorrow." That same hand enters his front pocket. His gold pocket watch opens and he glances at its face. "Don't forget that your father is about to call you."

"Yeah, I guess I better go," I murmur reluctantly, a slight frown appearing. We share one last moment, our gazes fixated on the other's face. "Goodnight," I whisper.

He moves out of the doorway, the four fingers of his right hand inside of his jeans pocket. "Goodnight."

The door slowly closes until I can no longer see him on the other side. My fingers turn both locks. I briefly lean my back against it and close my eyes. Now I am _truly_ alone.

Shaking that knowledge from my mind, I head to the kitchen in the back of the house and wait. The house phone rings five minutes later. Charlie tells me that he'll be home in a couple more hours. Then he tries to convince me to go next door to Mrs. Bryson's until he gets back. My firm "no" greatly annoys him. I'm safe and sound in a house that is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I understand that he is just looking out for me, but I refuse to be babysat at seventeen years old. I have to draw the line somewhere.

I hang up the phone after we say goodbye. Sitting at the table, I take the time to enjoy the silence of the house. By degrees, my eyes wander to the kitchen door and travel the well-worn path to the stairs. I have two whole hours to myself. And I am too wired for sleep. I can either sit here and relive what happened earlier tonight, or I can crank up my ancient computer and try to piece together Edward's life in Chicago.

Rushing out of my chair, I throw open a cabinet door and snatch down a box of crackers and a jar of creamy peanut butter. If I am going to snoop, I will need to be well-fed.

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**A/N- I'm too worn out to come up with a creative way to ask for you to review. So, I'll just say, pretty please? **

**Next Chapter\- Bella channels Nancy Drew and finds something surprising.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	21. Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is

**Chapter 21- Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?**

**March 5, 2005**

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After a quick trip to the bathroom, I try to get comfortable in my chair. I nibble on a cracker smeared with peanut butter while my old computer gradually wheezes to life. I don't normally use this thing for web browsing. It's pitifully slow about loading up webpages. The only reason I turn it on at all is to check my emails every day or two. But I'm on a special mission tonight. The chance of sneaking a peek into Edward's past life in Chicago is something that I can't pass up.

I double click the web browser icon and wait some more. You can't rush this PC. It's like a stubborn mule - you have to be patient, treat it gently, and take your time about doing anything. If you click too fast or bring up too many programs at the same time, it will punish you by crashing and forcing you to do a restart.

I sip on my bottled water and eat until everything is up and running. My lips pucker musingly as I decide on what I should type in first. It's probably best if I start with something easy.

Following a quick wiggle of my fingers to get them warmed up, I begin tapping on the keyboard.

_Edward Masen, Forks, WA_

Hitting enter, I sit back in my chair and patiently watch the browser. The stupid advertisements are slowing down my internet speed, but at least my computer isn't freezing. Around forty-five seconds into my wait, the search engine is done and I can sift through the results. I'm not too disappointed when all I see are two articles showing him on the honor roll at Forks High. The rest of the fifty or so results do not relate to him at all. I had a feeling there wouldn't be much information tying him here. He has only lived in the area since last summer.

My mouse pointer rolls to the top of the page and I delete Forks from the search. In its place, I type in _Chicago_ and hit enter. I'm more excited for _this_ search query. Since Edward shares the same name as his father, I should see more hits.

Eagerly moving closer to the computer monitor, I read the first few results and see that I made the search too broad. It's showing me everyone in Chicago with the first name _Edward_ or the last name _Masen_, but no _Edward Masens_. I decide to add in quotation marks around his name and hit the enter key again.

_Your search - "Edward Masen" Chicago - did not match any documents._

My forehead furrows. That's weird. His name and hometown are spelled correctly. Between father and son, I expected that I would see a ton of search results right away.

I get the idea to change the search box to show _E__dward Anthony Masen_ and his city. But after a long wait, I still get nothing.

Taking out the _Anthony, _I leave only the letter _A_ as his middle initial. I get no hits yet again.

My fingernails drum on the desk while I stare at the screen. I must be doing something wrong. Or Google suddenly changed the way their search engine operates. Maybe they're having technical difficulties and the quotation marks are throwing them off. Because otherwise, I should have seen _something_ by now.

After a quick brainstorming session, I come up with the idea of doing a test search. I'll keep the quotation marks but change the search terms to someone else. _Me_.

"_Bella Swan" Phoenix_

A short time passes and the search page comes up. I see lots of entries. There must be another Bella Swan besides me who has lived in Phoenix within the past few years. This other Bella created a blog to record her journey across America in her motor home. Scattered in between references to her, I find a little information about me. There are a bunch of honor roll listings from the past three years. I also notice an old school newspaper article which mentions that I won third place in the Earth And Space Sciences category at the science fair during my freshman year. It helped that there were only five entrants in that category. All I did was cover a Styrofoam ball with spackle to create some texture, spray painted it red, and then christened it the planet Mars. Frankly, I think I impressed the judges with my research material more than my art skills.

Continuing my Google search experiment, I type in Charlie's name and city next. I'm blown away by the amount of articles and webpages that turn up. He is named on the city of Forks website. There are numerous regional newspaper stories where he was interviewed. Most are updates on traffic accidents and similarly mundane things. However, there are a couple of articles where he had an actual crime to deal with and not just harmless teenage hijinks. I see an obituary which lists him as one of the deceased's pallbearers. I find websites which list his address and home phone number. There are even companies offering to reveal past bankruptcies, divorces, and his criminal history - which I get a nice laugh out of since he is one of the most law abiding people you could ever meet.

Since the search function seems to be working properly now, I delete Charlie's information and retry Edward's name and hometown. And I get the same results as the first time. Nothing.

My fingers snatch another cracker from the box and I grumpily stuff it inside of my mouth. This shouldn't be hard to do. I'm a fairly intelligent person. I should be mentally capable of handling a Google search. It's not like this is rocket science.

During my quiet introspection, I come up with a plausible theory concerning why I'm not finding anything on him. Maybe Edward and his family didn't live or work in the city of Chicago. They probably lived in a suburb. When asked where they live, people often say the name of the metropolis they live nearby instead of the small town from which they really reside. Though, if that _is_ the problem, I will have a tough time figuring out where he lived if I don't find some clues.

I munch on a few more peanut butter crackers and construct a new strategy. Since Edward's dad was a lawyer, it should be fairly easy to find something on him if I readjust the search query. I'll take out Chicago and only use his profession.

_"Edward Masen" lawyer_

More than a minute later, the results appear. All I can find are two Edward Masens who work as lawyers on the North American continent - one in Toronto, the other in Charlotte, North Carolina. I immediately change _lawyer_ to _attorney _but I get the same search results. So I add in his middle initial once again. And after a long wait (where an ad for a discount superstore slows my computer down to an evolutionary crawl), I receive the dreaded "your search did not match any documents blah, blah, blah".

My back slumps into my chair and I glare at the Google logo. This isn't going as well as I had anticipated. Evidently, the childhood I spent reading the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew series of books did not adequately prepare me for sleuthing.

Why can't I find anything on Edward? Sure, I found references to him living in Forks, but why am I not seeing anything from before he moved here? It's as if he did not exist before 2004.

And as for his dad, why can't I come up _anything_? The firm he worked for should at least have a web page devoted to his memory. Hell, I should see an obituary too if the funeral home that was used has a website (which many do now). How can a successful attorney who was once a boxer not have one word written about him? This doesn't make sense. You can't live in this day and age and not leave a trace of yourself online. Well, I guess you could slip through the cracks if you lived on a deserted island or somewhere similarly isolated, but Illinois is not exactly the wilderness.

A new burst of determination demands that I sit up and type in another search term. I've tried looking for the men of the Masen family and failed. Maybe it will be easier to find the matriarch.

"_Elizabeth Masen" Chicago_

The computer sputters and spins as it scours the world wide web. And, after I patiently wait for almost a full minute, I am rewarded with a few hits. I eagerly scroll down the page. My hopeful smile turns progressively sour. The only Elizabeth Masen in Chicago it is showing me owns the largest assortment of handmade quilts in Cook County. I know this because one of her grandsons posted a picture of her standing in front of her collection on her seventy-third birthday. I see no information on Edward's mother.

Another idea inspires me to try again. I type Edward's name back in and only add the state of Illinois. Unfortunately, the only Edward Masen in the state (according to the search engine) is a thirty year old from Springfield - the state capital.

Exactly as my fingers are threatening to rip my hair out by its roots, a creaking sound ricochets through the quiet house. I freeze in place and listen. A hefty dose of fear creeps into my bloodstream. Someone is _walking_ _around_ downstairs.

"Bella?"

The breath I had been holding rushes out. It's just Charlie back home from Port Angeles.

"I'm in my room!" I shout.

While I am waiting for him to come upstairs, I glance back at the computer screen. Edward's name is sitting there in plain view. And Charlie will be up here at any moment. Having him realize that he lives with a budding cyber stalker will only lead to awkward questions that I am not prepared to deal with.

Scrambling around like a lunatic, I swipe the computer mouse back, delete Edward's name, and type in the very first thing I can think of. After hitting the enter button, my computer takes its sweet time in bringing up the new search results. Heavy footsteps begin their march up the stairs. My fingers clasp together in a pleading gesture, silently begging the old electronic geezer to go a little faster for once. My computer finally shows me mercy. Right as the bedroom door knob turns, Edward Masen's search page disappears and the new search page starts to load up.

The door opens and Charlie scans the room until he sees me at my desk. He stands in the doorway - his mustache twisting to the side - as he takes a moment to observe me.

"I figured you'd be in bed by now. It's almost one o'clock in the morning," he points out.

My shoulders shrug, feigning innocence. "I wasn't really sleepy. I decided to browse the internet for a little while."

He nods and casually glances at my computer monitor. Then he blinks confusedly. "I didn't think that you were interested in _sports_," he says, putting emphasis on the last word.

My head whirls around to where he is staring and I read what I had typed in. My resulting groan is barely suppressed. Of all the things on the planet that I could have pretended to be looking up, I use _this_ as my cover story? _Boxing_? This is just great. Charlie is going to call in a shrink to psychoanalyze me if I tell him the real reason why boxing is on my mind - namely, that Edward punches like a fighter who was active before boxing gloves were mandatory. Actually, Charlie will probably be worried regardless if I tell him the truth or not. For me to suddenly express an interest in anything sports related is unprecedented. I haven't exactly made my dislike for sports a secret.

I slap on a weak smile and chuckle nervously. "Oh, um, he he he. I'm not really into boxing, Dad. I was, uhhh...trying to remember the name of that guy who sells those neat little electric grills? Yeah. Do you know what I'm talking about? I was thinking about how nice it would be to cook both sides of a steak at the same time. I mean...just think of the time it could save us."

Charlie lowers his gaze to the carpeted floor for several beats, his forehead wrinkled downwards. Soon, his face pops back up. "Do you mean George Foreman?"

I smile wider and bob my head up and down like a moron. "That's it! The_ George Foreman Grill_. Thank you. Maybe I'll ask for one next Christmas."

He moves out of the doorway and walks to the desk where I sit. New, worried lines form in between his chestnut eyebrows. "Bells? Are you - _uh_ \- feeling all right?"

I lose the fake smile and look back seriously. "I'm fine."

He studies my face for a short stretch, then nods in acceptance of my claim. "Good. That's, err, very good."

After he says this, his eyes dart away to admire my paperback book collection which sits on my tiny bookshelf. His fingers begin awkwardly stroking his mustache, a nervous habit he sometimes does under certain stressful situations.

I squint up at him suspiciously. "What's wrong?"

Like a guilty child, he looks back at me with big eyes. "I have some news that I need to share."

As if sensing the distressing nature of what he wants to tell me, my knee jiggles under the desk. The news must be _very_ bad. Like, there isn't enough evidence to press charges against the guy who attacked me tonight. Or, he posted bail and he's free to come find me and finish the job he started.

I close my eyes in a wince, bracing myself for the worse. "What is it?"

"It's about Wallace, the man that - you know - tried to hurt you_. _He is going to be extradited to Texas within the next few days."

My face snaps back up. "Why?" I ask warily.

"He...," Charlie trails off uncomfortably, barely able to maintain eye contact. "Umm. He's done..._things_ like this before. The authorities down there have been after him for a long time. And he's wanted in Oklahoma, too."

"Oh." That's all I can say. How many people did he assault before he stumbled upon me? And how many of them never had the chance to get away?

Charlie's arm appears around the back of my neck in a half hug. "He's facing a lot of charges in both states. They have enough evidence on him that it's almost guaranteed that he will be found guilty on multiple offences... So that's why I-"

He abruptly stops speaking. Since he is hugging me from behind, I cannot see his face. I extract myself from his hold and stare up at him, silently entreating him to finish what he was planning to say.

Not seeming to know what to do with his hands, he uneasily places them upon the back of my chair. He exhales and says, "I have decided that it would be best if we avoid going to trial."

The corners of my mouth turn down slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you won't ever have to see or hear about him ever again if you don't want to," he answers. "I didn't think it would in your best interest to put you through the stress of going after him when he is already looking at getting_ at least_ a life sentence - and that's if he is _lucky._"

I sit stock still. The information slowly penetrates my mental defenses. That guy isn't getting out of jail. I won't need to constantly check over my shoulder when I go out. He will spend the rest of his life far, far away. I won't be required to sit on a witness stand while he smirks from across a courtroom. His defense team won't paint him as an innocent man while they attack my character, attempting to sow doubt within the jury. I can put this behind me, knowing that he's rotting away where he can't hurt anyone like me ever again. And I can go on _living my life._

Charlie gently shakes me by the shoulder, calling for my attention. I look up at him and see a hint of concern returning. "Bella? If you don't agree with what I did, we can still go after him. I can talk with the authorities up there and tell them that I've changed my mind. We can do whatever you want."

"No," I murmur, still in a half daze as I shake my head. "You did the right thing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Charlie nods and squeezes my shoulder. "All right," he says softly, his voice the gentlest that I have ever heard out of him.

He backs up a pace and a short time goes by. "So..." he begins in a more normal speaking voice. "Were you aware that when I pulled into the driveway a few minutes ago, that boy of yours was still here?"

My mouth drops. I said goodnight to Edward when it was almost 10:30. It's 12:44 right now. He sat outside of my house for over two hours?

I jump from my chair, intending to go to my window to see this sight for myself, but Charlie catches my upper arm before I take another step. "He's already gone. I sent him home," he announces.

Grudgingly, I flop back onto my desk chair. I could have spent another two hours with Edward if I had only known he was outside. "What was he doing out there?" I wonder.

Charlie cocks his eyebrow. "Well, he was in his car when I first noticed him. He _said_ that he was waiting to see if I had any new information about that man in Port Angeles." Then, Charlie stares as though he's waiting for me to figure out the real reason for myself.

It doesn't take long. I think I know why Edward stayed out there for all of that time.

He was watching out for me until Charlie could get home.

Shame stings my conscience. While I was up here trying to dig into his business, he was sitting out there for over two hours just in case I needed him.

I am a _terrible_ maybe, kinda girlfriend.

"He's a good kid," adds Charlie, scratching at his nose.

"Yeah," I breathe out, staring straight ahead. "He is."

**00000000000000000000**

I spend my night sleeping with Edward. _ Dream Edward_, of course. Dream Edward is just as protective as his real life counterpart, staying by my side no matter what materializes before us - be it a monstrous creature that could tear us to bits, or Bozo The Clown threatening to toss banana cream pies into our faces.

When the two of us enter a beautiful green park, I am aware that none of this is real but it still feels like it. We take only a few steps inside when Dream Edward encourages me to hold onto his hooked arm even though I am walking around just fine. I humor him in his odd request without question (which is rare for me) and a pleased smile spreads across his face.

I briefly shut my eyes as I enjoy our stroll. It is a bright, beautiful day in this fantasy world. But as dreams often do, everything changes in the blink of an eye. The park and everyone in it suddenly drains of color - and only I seem to take notice. The trees and grass transition into a dull, lifeless gray. Edward's perfectly messy hair becomes a flat dark hue - the normally vibrant strands no longer gleaming with hints of cinnamon and copper. Shocked at the sight, I jerk to a stop and force Edward to do the same. Warily, my hand lifts until it is in front of my face. My pale pink skin is gone, replaced with a nearly eggshell white.

Seemingly unperturbed by the bizarre color scheme change that has occurred, Edward dips his free hand into his pocket and out comes his pocket watch. He deftly flips open the case. Then, as if time has been slowed down, he moves to hand me the watch.

I cup it in my hands, examining it the same way I did at that little café in Port Angeles a little over a month ago. _Time marches on. Don't let it leave you behind_, reads the message inside. I look below those words and study the signature of the man who had that engraved. It appears to shine brighter than before, almost like it is begging for my attention.

_ Obadiah A. Masen_

"My grandfather," purrs Edward.

My head lifts and I meet his smoldering gaze. The color may have been robbed from his eyes, but I still become lost in them. As he leans in, I miraculously stop worrying about the unexplainable goings on around us. My mouth parts open, waiting impatiently for the feel of his lips on mine.

A shrill noise invades my dream and my eyes flap open. A songbird perched right outside of my bedroom window squawks like it has a megaphone held up to its little beak. I gradually come to realize that I am not standing in a park. Edward is not leaning down for a kiss. Instead, I am lying in bed wide awake because a stupid bird couldn't give me just one more minute to enjoy the good part.

Sunlight streams in through my bedroom window. It's much sunnier than it was yesterday. I remain unmoving in bed and enjoy the sight. I also think back on the dream. It felt so life-like, as if it was really happening. I clearly remember the park and everyone around us suddenly losing their color - looking just like Edward did last night in the alley. I remember the dream version of himself giving me the watch to examine, and how the name of his grandfather seemed to sparkle in front of me.

My body shoots up into a sitting position_. I know Edward's grandfather's name._ Obadiah A. Masen. I bet his middle name was Anthony too. And thanks to Edward's story last night, I know that he and Edward's father once lived in Iowa and that he had a farm. That could help me in my search!

My head swings towards the clock. It's 7:15. It's a Sunday, too. Since it is such a nice day, Charlie will be taking advantage of it. He'll probably be gone all day fishing. It isn't unusual for him to leave at dawn and not return home until the late afternoon. I'll have the house all to myself. I can snoop all I want without fear of Charlie breathing down my neck.

I rush over to my computer and turn it on. While it boots up, I go to the bathroom and take a shower. My stomach grumbles when I begin brushing my teeth, reminding me that I haven't had breakfast yet. I decide to hold off on doing any research until I get a bite to eat.

I'm practically skipping into the kitchen when my nose detects something burning. Shoving open the door, I see Charlie standing in front of the stove with a cloud of black smoke billowing around him.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

He whips around, armed with a spatula and a pan covered in an unidentifiable, burnt-on substance. The mustache on his face does a sheepish shimmy. "I was trying to make us breakfast."

I wander over and look closer at the pan he holds. "Umm... What is that?" I ask, trying not to crinkle my nose up.

His shoulders droop. "It was supposed to be a Western Omelette."

"Oh. Well, I think you waited a little too long to flip it."

Charlie coughs a little laugh. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I've never made an omelette before."

I look back up at him, scrunching my brow. "Why are you still here? Today's Sunday. Shouldn't you be out fishing at this time?"

He rubs his upper lip and glances away. "Sun's kinda too bright to be out on the water. Fish don't like biting when it's like that. I decided to just rest and hang around the house. Maybe watch some TV. And I need to fix that squeaky bathroom door, too... I don't really feel like fishing anyway."

My eyebrows rise up as far as they will reach. Charlie Swan has never, ever said those words before. I'm instantly suspicious.

"Dad. I've seen you get into your car and happily go fishing through just about any weather condition. You would probably fish on a boat during a hurricane if you had to. What's your real reason for staying home?"

He frowns and puts the pan he was holding into the kitchen sink. "I'm staying because I don't think it would be a good idea to leave today."

"Why? It's your day off. You should go out and have fun."

He stares down at me sharply. "I'm not leaving today," he stresses in a tone of finality.

My lips smash together irritably. It's pretty easy to guess what his problem is. "Do you think that I can't handle being alone anymore?" I snap, folding my arms defensively.

"Now, I didn't say that," he retorts carefully. "I just think that it would be best if we stick together today."

"Why?"

Charlie grimaces like a constipated tortoise. He doesn't want to tell me. So, I keep on staring at him. I plan on remaining this way until he gives me a good reason for staying home today. Sooner or later, he'll crack.

And he does. After around twenty seconds, he grumbles under his breath and gives up. "I was told to watch for signs of shock in the next few days," he confesses, frown lines etched around his mouth.

I drop my crossed arms and try to relax my glare. "I'm fine, Dad. That isn't going to happen."

"Yeah. You're probably right. But I'm still staying," he counters stubbornly.

My scowling does nothing to change his mind. Once I accept that he'll be around all day, I do the only thing that I can do - order him out of the kitchen so that I can make us a decent breakfast in peace.

We're eating at the kitchen table a short while later when he decides to throw another wrench into my plans. He decides that Mom needs to be informed of what happened in Port Angeles last night. My helpful reminders on how sensitive my mother is when it comes to bad news does nothing to sway him.

When we finish eating, I very reluctantly call her. Phil answers the phone. He tells me that she's out shopping with friends and won't be back for a few hours. He promises that he'll give her the message to call me back as soon as she walks through the door. I kind of want to tell Phil that he would be doing me a _huge_ favor if he would just keep my phone call a secret. But Charlie might overhear me say that, so I keep my mouth shut.

With Charlie is being entertained by a sports report on the TV, I go upstairs and put my computer to work. I bring up the browser and type in Edward's grandfather's name and Iowa. I get one hit. Mysteriously, however, the lone search result indicates that the information is at a genealogical website. I click on it but they won't let me look at anything unless I have a paid account.

I frown at the screen until it occurs to me that Mom was once deeply into genealogy. For a few months, she diligently filled in her family's tree until it became too difficult to trace her older ancestors and she lost interest. There were a few genealogy memberships she used to help find information. She even came across a couple of living people on those websites who she is related to very distantly. Those people shared heaps of old photos and family documents in exchange for just a thank you. Mom might still have one or two accounts up and running. Since I have to call her anyway, I can ask which ones are useful and if she still has their login information. And if she does, I might even get lucky and find someone out there that has a photo of Edward's dad taken during his boxing days.

I shut the computer monitor off and head back downstairs to pass the time until Mom calls. I sit at the kitchen table and finish my English essay that's due in a few days. Next, I do some laundry and wash the dishes. Every so often, Charlie sneaks into the kitchen and pretends that he wants a drink of water. In return, I pretend that I don't know he is coming in here to make sure that I am not huddled in the corner of the room and staring vacantly into the distance.

It's right around ten o'clock when the phone rings. I hurry across the room and snatch the phone up to my ear.

"Hello," I answer.

_"It's me."_

My butt drops into a nearby chair. That isn't Mom. The voice is deep, crisp, and clearly masculine. Only one person I know sounds like that.

_Edward_.

"Oh. Um... Hi," I falter. I just spent the last twelve hours strategizing ways to track down details of his life before he moved to Forks. Thank goodness he can't see my face. One look and he would see that I am up to something.

_"I didn't wake you, did I?"_

"No. Nothing like that. I'm awake," I mutter hesitantly, my front teeth biting into a fingernail.

"_OK_," he slowly draws out. "_How are you?"_

"_Fine. Everything's fine."_

Edward huffs out a heavy sigh. "_Bella. Are you just telling me that to ease my_ _mind?_"

Yanking my nail from my mouth, I take a cleansing breath. I think I am worrying Edward. I need to stop sounding so nervous. He can't see my face, I remind myself. As long as I don't sound as guilty as I feel, he will never know what I have been up to.

"No. I'm perfectly fine," I reassure him. "I've just been sitting around the house all morning waiting for my mom to call me back."

"_Oh... _ Then_ I suppose that I should let you go so I don't tie up your line_."

I sit up stiffly, clinging to the phone cord. "No! I mean... Don't hang up yet. We can talk for a little while longer."

"_OK_," he acknowledges in a glum tone.

My head tilts worriedly. "Are you all right, Edward?"

"_I'll survive_," he breathes out.

"That doesn't sound very reassuring. Should I be worrying about you?"

A rumbling chuckle comes from his end. "_No."_

My lips perk up a little at the sound he made. "So, what have you been up to?"

"_Nothing much. I worked on some homework and then stared at my ceiling until I could call you._"

I snort a laugh. "Wow. That sounds _fantastic_. Seriously, Edward? No wonder you called me so early. You're bored out of your mind, aren't you?"

"_Well, I'm not anymore_," he replies, his voice oozing charm.

I roll my eyes but my smile is there too. "Sure_._"

"_What about you? Have you been waiting by the phone all morning long for your mother to call?_"

And there goes my smile. Hello, guilt. You weren't gone for very long at all, were you?

I lick at my dry lips and fidget in my chair. "No. I've been keeping myself pretty busy."

"_Really? Doing what?"_

"Umm... Well. I did some homework too. I finished that English essay. Messed around on my computer. Cooked breakfast for Charlie and me. You know... Stuff like that_._" That's pretty much the truth minus a couple of critical details.

"_Where is he this morning, by the way?"_

My mouth twists and I sigh in frustration at my overly anxious father. "On the couch. It's a beautiful day today. Usually he's out fishing on his days off from work. I keep telling him to go, but he's being stubborn. It's like he believes that he needs to babysit me now. I think he's too afraid to leave me alone in the house. Like I'll spiral into a post traumatic mess the moment he steps foot outside."

_"He loves you, Bella. Last night was hard for him. I think he will be a little more protective of you for a while_." He pauses and adds, "_Have you told your mother yet?_"

"No. That's one of the reasons why I'm waiting to talk to her. Charlie thinks that she needs to know," I explain with a frown.

"_She does need to know_," Edward says, sounding irritatingly in favor of Charlie's wish.

"That's a mater of opinion. You don't know her like I do. I'll be spending my entire conversation with the woman telling her not to jump on a plane. She's going to flip out_."_

Edward tries reminding me that I said something very similar about Charlie last night before I had to call him to come to Port Angeles. And, yeah, I guess maybe I did. But the difference between then and now is that I am not exaggerating this time. Charlie and Mom handle stress differently. To put it simply, he can handle it and she can't.

It's a little sad when I eventually have to hang up the phone, but if I stay on for much longer, I might miss Mom's call. A part of me wants to invite Edward over for a few hours. Though, after everything he had to do last night, I think he deserves a break from guard duties today. Besides, I have work to do.

It's nearly lunchtime when Mom calls. She sounds so happy to hear from me when I answer. When she starts blabbering about her first childhood boyfriend and how adorable he was, I slowly come to understand that she believes that this call is purely an update on Edward and me. Although I kind of hate to do it, blending in good news with the bad really does take the edge off of telling her about last night. So I slip in a quick, nondescriptive summary of the Port Angeles incident in between details of my first dinner date. This greatly helps to dull the blow. Her panic attack only lasts a few minutes. She even calms down once she extracts a promise from me to send her a picture of Edward. Considering that I have had two run-ins with death in less than two months time, this demand isn't too bad. Mom could be insisting that I move out of Washington state.

After that job is done, I introduce a new subject to distract her. I inquire about her past interest in genealogy, which soon gets her to start chatting about that instead of near death experiences and psychopaths. During a pause in her reminiscing, I ask if she still has any active accounts. I'm genuinely thrilled when she not only says yes, but she also has the logon information written down nearby. When she wonders why I am suddenly interested in the subject, I explain that I'm helping a friend with a family history project. At least this is close to the truth.

At the end of the phone call, I fix a plate full of sandwiches and carry them into the living room. Charlie is glued to the TV and stretched out on the couch when I hand him his lunch. I let him know that I will be upstairs reading. He acknowledges this without asking any follow-up questions - which is great since I won't need to confess that I won't be reading from a book like he assumes. I will (hopefully) be reading from my web browser about a certain enigmatic boy's family history.

In my room, I turn the computer monitor back on and type in the username and password of the website that claims to have information on Edward's grandfather. Once I am logged in, it takes me straight to the webpage on Obadiah Masen. But this can't be him. The Obadiah it shows me lived in Iowa City, California - not Iowa the state.

I try not to become discouraged. Mom said that these genealogy websites aren't indexed very well by the search engines. She said that it is best to search within their websites instead of googling. So, I navigate to the website's search bar and click on it. My fingers type in Edward Masen without hesitation. I set the search area on Chicago, press enter, and sit back to watch my computer struggle to load up the next page. A few search results pop up. The top two are censuses with information on an Edward Masen of Chicago that were taken during the years 1900 and 1910. My brows knit together. Could this be one of Edward's relatives? Maybe a great grandfather? I know his father was born in Iowa but maybe his family originates in Illinois.

Curious, I click on one of the links and wait. It takes many minutes for anything to happen. I start drumming my fingers on the desk, staring at the screen. After a long wait, I see what the problem is. It isn't loading up a webpage. It's an image of a document. Across the very top in large, bold letters, it says:

_Thirteenth Census Of The United States: 1910 Population_

I wait until the image is done loading before I bother examining it. Moving close to the screen, I try to make sense of what I am seeing. The census lists names of people on the left hand side of the page. Each line tells you the person's approximate age, sex, race, marital status, and a long list of other data the U.S. government thought it needed to know back then. Instead of the information being typed in, the census taker wrote it out by hand in a beautiful, curving style.

I scan the names on the document until I come across the Masen household. With my finger following along the row so I won't get lost, I begin reading.

_Edward Masen, Senior. 37 years old. White male. Head of household. Married. Number of years married: 11. Birthplace: Iowa. Language: English..._

My finger freezes in place. I go back to something I just read.

_Birthplace: Iowa. _

This man was born in _Iowa_. Edward's dad was born in Iowa, too. Hmm. This guy really could be related somehow.

My finger travels farther down the row and I read more.

_Father's birthplace: Iowa. Mother's birthplace: Iowa. Occupation:_ _Lawyer. General Practice._

I blink back dumbly at the carefully written words in front of me. That's weird. But just because this man had the same name, place of birth, and career as Edward's father doesn't mean anything. It _can't_ mean anything. This man lived in 1910. Edward's father passed away recently. They cannot be connected.

However, this gentle reminder does not keep me from rushing back to the list of people on the census. I want to see the name of the next person that lived in this household. Then I will see for myself that I am overreacting.

_Elizabeth Masen. 32 years old. White female. Married. Number of children: 1. Birthplace: Illinois._

Edward told me last night that his mother was from Chicago originally. And he has said before that he was the only child born to Edward and Elizabeth Masen.

My finger shakes on the computer screen as it heads to the third person who lived in the Masen household in April of 1910.

_Edward A. Masen, Junior. 8 years old. White male. Single. Birthplace: Illinois._

An icy chill starts at my toes and flows up my body like an arctic blast. This can't be a coincidence. Or could it? Edward wasn't an uncommon name back then. Neither was Elizabeth. But is it possible for everything else to match up too?

The index finger of my right hand moves to the last member of the household.

_Martha Fairman. 51 years old. White Female. Single. Birthplace: Massachusetts. Housekeeper._

My eyes slam together. And there she is. _Martha_, the Masen family cook and housekeeper. This proves it to me. I am not imagining things. Edward has described a family that lived almost one hundred years ago.

As I sit here immobilized, the pieces of the puzzle of Edward Masen locks into place. He doesn't talk like any teenager I know. He prefers listening to music or reading as opposed to playing video games like 99% of the young male population. He is obsessed with opening doors for women and generally behaving like a proper gentleman from a Jane Austen novel. He owns an antique pocket watch that he feels the need to conceal from nearly everyone. He fights like an expert boxer that has been dead for decades. He has confided that his upbringing was old-fashioned and conservative.

I start giggling like a lunatic at that. _ Old-fashioned_. Yeah. I have to agree with him. I'd say being born at the start of the twentieth century will put you a little behind the times.

Once my laughing fit ends, I slump into my chair and try to make sense of what I have found. Things are beginning to make sense - even though it sounds impossible. Is Edward really a 104 year old man? How could that be possible anyway? He looks so young. And he is way too good looking to be elderly. Is he like that F. Scott Fitzgerald story? A real life Benjamin Button who was born an old man and ages in reverse?

Or maybe it's something else. Maybe when he wasn't being a musical prodigy, he worked down in a laboratory in Chicago and built a time machine. That's definitely possible. Edward is very smart. And it would explain why I can't find anything on him on the Google search engine prior to 2004. But there is one stumbling block to this theory. Why for heaven's sakes would he decide on time traveling to the wilds of Washington? Normal people would want to do something exciting, like go see the pyramids being constructed in ancient Egypt. Coming to Forks makes absolutely no sense.

I save the 1910 census image to the hard drive and go back to the website's search page. Clicking on the 1900 census, I find Edward senior, Elizabeth, and Martha but no Edward junior. That matches up with the other census. Edward wasn't born until 1901 or '02. Well, at least it's nice to confirm that he and I still have one thing in common - we were both born in the same century.

I comb the site for more proof and discover Edward senior in 1880 living with Obadiah and Amanda Masen of Iowa.

My face falls into my hands.

_Obadiah_? God, I'm dumb. That name is so ancient. Edward was practically telling me his grandfather was born before the American Civil War.

I keep on searching for more evidence until there are no more documents related to them online to be found. I saw no sign of Edward or his family in the 1920 census or any of the ones that came after. There doesn't appear to be any living relatives of this branch of the Masens either. So there will be no photographs or anything helpful for me to examine.

Leaning back in my chair, I strain my brain and try to recall anything else that can help me. A few minutes in, I think of something Jessica once casually mentioned.

Carlisle Cullen is Edward's godfather.

That would mean that he knew Edward's parents!

My hands begin madly tapping on the keyboard. I do a quick Google search on Carlisle but all I can find is his name on the list of staff at the Forks General Hospital. There is no indication that he has ever been a doctor anywhere else. Well, isn't that weird? He lacks online information exactly like his 104 year old godchild.

I go back to the genealogical website and put in Carlisle's name into the search, but I find nothing at all. I'm not sure if it's because he successfully avoided the census taker through the years, or if I am just insane and paranoid and all of this has a perfectly rational explanation.

I take a breather and try to relax. There has to be something I'm not thinking about. Soon, I dig in a drawer and pull out a spiral notebook. I begin jotting down a summary of everything that I have found so far.

\- _Edward appears to either be the hottest senior citizen out there, or a brainiac, time traveling boy._

_\- If he time travelled, he had to have come here from some point in the distant past, landed here, and (for some reason) decided to stay._

_\- Carlisle Cullen is said to have known Edward's parents. So, if that is correct, that means he was alive way back then, too. _

I'm contemplating on what to add to my list next when something else occurs to me. Somehow during the craziness of the past twenty-four hours, I haven't thought very much on what Jacob told me yesterday. But, maybe I should.

I turn the page and start scribbling down a second list of things to consider.

\- _Billy Black, Sam aka Bigfoot guy, and others in La Push are wary and distrustful of the Cullen family. Except for Edward, who they have tried to have removed from the Cullen house._

_\- The Cullens (again, except for Edward) are all abnormally pale, have cat-yellow eyes, and faces that Leonardo di Vinci would have had trouble capturing._

_\- According to my sources (Jessica, mainly), the Cullen family are very private and rarely interact with people outside of their group. Almost like they don't want anyone to really get to know them. _

I pause in my writing. My mouth purses contemplatively for a while. Then I add:

\- _At least two of the Cullens (Alice and Emmett) have ice cold hands._

I stare down at my list. This has to mean something. Especially the first thing. The people of the reservation genuinely _fear_ the Cullens. There has to be more to the story that I am not privy to. Edward has a secret, so maybe the Cullens do too.

I'm staring down at my notebook when I hear the staircase creaking, indicating that Charlie has pried himself off the couch and is coming to check on me. As fast as I can, I turn off the computer monitor, hide my notebook under my mattress, grab a random book as a stage prop, and hop on my bed to pretend that I am reading.

Charlie knocks and I tell him to come on in. The bedroom door opens and he cautiously sticks his head in, as though he is terrified I'll be doing something feminine that would embarrass the both of us. "Oh," he begins. "You still reading?"

I give a lame, weak smile. "Yeah. Just reading. This is a really interesting book." I glance at the cover and see that I am pretending to read the state of Washington's driving manual.

Gee, Bella, that isn't suspicious at all.

Attempting to hide my stupidity from him, I throw the book down on the nightstand and hope he didn't notice. I sit up in the bed and try to act natural. "So, umm...what brings you up here, Dad?"

"I was wondering if everything was going all right with you. It's getting kind of late."

My forehead crumples. Late? I haven't been up here _that_ long. I turn my head, expecting my clock to say that it's been around two hours since I started doing research. I'm astonished when I see that it is 6:23. I was on the computer looking up Edward's little secret for the entire afternoon.

I climb out of the bed and run my fingers through the tangles of my hair. "Um. Sorry. I guess I lost track of the time. I'll go fix us something quick."

Charlie holds up his hands. "Don't worry about that, Bells. I ordered a pizza, breadsticks, and a side salad. Dinner is taken care of."

I walk to the kitchen with Charlie trailing behind me. A large box of pizza and the sides are already set out on the table. I scoop up two plates and a couple of dinner forks. Soon, he is hungrily digging into the food while I add some black pepper to my salad.

I wonder how many people know about Edward and his origins? I'm sure Carlisle knows. Heck, the entire Cullen family probably does. But what about Sam and Billy? Would they know? I doubt it. From what Edward told me yesterday, the only reason why they have any interest in him is because they do not trust the people he lives with.

"Bella?" calls out Charlie, breaking my concentration. "Don't you think you've used enough pepper?"

Bewildered at what he's talking about, I look down and cringe when I see that I zoned-out while seasoning my salad. The white dressing now looks almost completely black and gray. Yummy.

I put down the black pepper shaker and cough into my hand, avoiding looking at him. "Yeah. I guess maybe I went a little overboard," I mumble.

I take a bite of the salad. It's extra spicy but at least it isn't terrible. The two of us drift into silence as we eat, though I can see Charlie watching me closely in my peripheral vision. Good job on not alerting him that your world just tilted on its side, Bella.

Charlie is reaching for a slice of pizza when he tries to initiate small talk. I nod my head along as though I'm listening to his stories - like the one about his deputy's recent trip to somewhere warm - but I'm not really paying close attention. Thoughts of Edward keep storming back into my mind.

I think I have put the pieces of this mystery together. But instead of me being able to discern the image on the puzzle, I have found that it's one of those stupid 3D Magic Eye optical illusion things where you have to cross your eyes and squint a certain way in order to see the real picture. And have I mentioned how much I hate those things? While everyone else talks about how cool the dolphins are in the hidden picture, I could never see a damn thing. I hope that isn't a indication that I'll never solve this enigma...

"Bella?"

My face pops up to find Charlie observing me. "If there was something bothering you, you'd tell me? Right?"

My head moves haltingly up and down. "Um-hmm."

"So...does that mean you're OK?"

"Um-hmm," I mumble, biting down hard on my bottom lip. Screaming out "_No! I am not 'OK', Dad! I just found out that Edward was born before you!_" would _not_ sound sane.

Charlie stares for several more beats before he reluctantly accepts my answer. He picks up a breadstick and pops a small piece into his mouth. His jaw works to chew it up as he goes back to watching me again. "You hear anything out of Edward today?"

Just hearing his name out loud causes my heart to flutter. And the reason isn't just because he is ridiculously handsome and charismatic.

I act like I need a sip of my drink before I try to answer Charlie's question. I plan out my response and attempt to sound calm and cool. "He called this morning."

Charlie grunts and nods. "I figured he would. I'm surprised he didn't stop by the house too."

"H-he's probably busy," I reply in a quivering voice. Edward probably spends his spare time oiling up his magic time machine. Or, depending on what the truth really is, he has Dr. Cullen perform plastic surgery on his 104 year old face. It's got to be hard work keeping your face looking like a seventeen year old.

"Hmm," grunts Charlie, after which a pause in our conversation crops up. I'm trying harder to actually eat instead of just playing with my food when he speaks again. "I spent some time today doing some thinking. About last night. And some other things."

I glance up at him, my interest piqued. Charlie usually isn't a deep thinker unless the subject matter involves sports drafts and what it will mean for the team.

He places his dinner fork down and his face becomes pensive. "Last night was the worst night of my life, Bells. Hearing about what happened - _what could have happened _\- well...it got me to thinking. I...I never thought when I found that boy and dragged him out of those woods that day, that he would do anything for me in return. But he did. _Twice_. And I'll never be able to pay him back."

I'm sitting up straighter. Edward almost died in the forest near Olympic National Park. I forgot to add that to my list...

Charlie keeps on speaking while my brain waves are frenziedly zipping around. "I wanted to let you know how sorry I am for attacking him the way I did at the police station. I know it embarrassed you. What I did was uncalled for."

"It's fine, Dad," I mutter. "I've already moved past it. I haven't even thought about it today."

Yes. I have much more pressing things to think about. Like, does Edward have a senior citizen's discount card?

Charlie skews his mustache to his left as though he doesn't quite believe me. "Well, I just wanted to tell you that I know it was wrong." He stops to sadly shake his head. "And I did it in front of Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, too. I really made myself look like a jackass."

"I doubt they'll hold it against you," I mumble. "They're very nice...people."

Well, they're nice _somethings_. I'm not sure if they are people. Maybe they're aliens from some faraway planet. Beautiful, golden-eyed aliens. They could have travelled back in time, abducted Edward, and brought him here. That sounds vaguely possible until I remember that even aliens from another galaxy wouldn't want to live in a place that rains for nine months of the year. They're advanced creatures - not stupid.

With a polite grunt of agreement, Charlie moves his head up and down. "That they are. Dr. Cullen is the best doctor in Forks. All the nurses and patents at the hospital love him. And Mrs. Cullen hands out gift baskets for the folks at the nursing home. It really makes their day." An unexpected laugh echoes within the kitchen. "When I first saw Carlisle, I thought he was in his early twenties. 22. 23. Something like that. Well, can you believe that he's actually 33? You'd never guess just by looking at him. Same goes for his wife. Most beautiful lady you could set your eyes on _AND_ she hasn't aged a bit since she moved here. I'm starting to think their house's plumbing system has tapped into the Fountain Of Youth," he ends with a slight smile.

I bolt from the table and am on my way to dump the remainder of the food on my plate into the garbage when Charlie says, "Wait, Bells. Where you going? You hardly ate anything."

As I scrape the plate, I try to conceal my flushed cheeks. What Charlie just told me belongs on my list. Carlisle and Esme haven't aged since arriving in Forks. The urge to get it down on paper overrides any hunger I may have felt.

"I'm kind of too full to eat anything else, Dad. And I...need to finish doing some research before I go back to school."

I peek up and see Charlie appearing somewhat concerned about my erratic behavior, but thankfully he doesn't call me out on it.

"Oh. OK," he replies. "You go finish your homework then. I'll be down here if you need me."

I'm jogging up the stairs right afterwards. I have the rest of tonight to study up on Edward and the Cullens. I need to know as much about them as I can. After all, if I plan on confronting Edward about this, I need to be prepared.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Oh the interesting things you can discover with genealogy. Hog thieves in your family tree. An ancestor who maintained two separate households at the same time. Edwardian boyfriends living in pre-WWI Chicago. What fun!**

**Next Chapter\- A surprise in the morning has Bella rethinking her priorities.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	22. The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret

**Chapter 22- The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret**

**March 7, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

Seated in the rocking chair by my window, I watch the morning sun as it begins to tint the night sky into a coral pink. It's truly a beautiful sight. Ordinarily, you wouldn't find me wanting to watch the sun rise - I prefer milking my sleeping hours for all they're worth. But sleep is almost impossible when you have numerous questions popping up off and on all night long. I would sleep for awhile, abruptly wake up with a new mystery to ponder over, and lie there unmoving as I tried to work things out in my head. However, no amount of speculating ever helped. Nothing made sense. So, I would eventually fall back asleep and the cycle would repeat itself.

Even the dawn of a new day doesn't bring relief from the relentless curiosity. As I sit here rocking back and forth, the unanswered questions keep on coming...

_Why are the Quileutes wary of the Cullens? What is it about the family that makes them a threat? The only thing I've seen so far about the family that's frightening is Alice's __addiction to__ clothes shopping._

_But, if t__he family __truly i__s dangerous, why hasn't the tribe warned the people of Forks? Warning some people but not all doesn't sound fair.__ Or logical for that matter._

_If Carlisle is Edward's godfather, does that mean he was in Chicago when Edward was a baby? Was Carlisle an adult in 1901-1902? So how old would that make him?_

_On second thought, maybe I'm wrong about Carlisle being Edward's godparent. The only person who has ever said anything about that was Jessica - and she hasn't always been the most reliable source for information. She sincerely believes that the school's art teacher has a secret side job as a stripper just because the woman is a little busty up top and her first name is Candy._

_If Edward __is__ 104 years old, why does he go to high school? Wouldn't he rather do something more fun and in keeping with his advanced age? Like shuffleboard? Or bingo?_

_And how did Edward even register for school? Someone would have had to show Ms. Cope his birth certificate before he could enroll._

_Did they even have birth certificates in 1901?_

_But if he isn't incredibly old, how is he still a teenager? Did he travel through the decades in a jalopy/time machine hybrid, à la Back To The Future? Was he frozen in carbonite like Han Solo, locked away for a few dozen years, then Carlisle found and defrosted him? Or, am I completely wrong on both counts and I've just watched too many sci-fi flicks in my life?_

I spent a majority of the evening before huddled in front of my ancient computer, searching for clues on the Cullens. And, after many hours of research, I learned only one thing - the Cullens must be the most reclusive family alive. I typed in each of their names on Google but couldn't come up with much of anything. Carlisle Cullen works for the hospital. Each of the Cullen children are named as honor roll students at Forks high. Esme Cullen was listed as a contributor to a local charity. That's it. I could find nothing else on them. No photographs, no newspaper articles, and no indication that they ever lived or worked anywhere else before their move to Forks.

Putting their names into the genealogical database did no good either. Since I don't know where they originate, I couldn't definitively say if any of the search results related to them or not. I found many Alice Cullens all over the United States through the decades, however, none of them lived with any Carlisles, Esmes, or Emmetts. There were a few Rosalie Hales, but no Jasper Hales were listed with them.

My last idea was to look up their highly unusual characteristics and see if I could find any clues as to who or _what_ they might be, but I came up empty-handed there too. Typing in _golden eyes _gave me links to James Bond films. A _yellow eyes_ search brought up websites which described medical conditions, like jaundice. And typing in _beautiful pale people who don't age _just showed famous Hollywood actresses who are considered pale by California standards, but they aren't even close to having the alabaster skin tone the Cullens possess.

Once the time neared ten o'clock, I decided to give up the search for the night and began getting ready for bed. I wearily shuffled to the bathroom sink and snatched up my toothbrush. As I brushed my teeth, I indifferently studied my reflection in the mirror. My eyelids drooped, hinting at both my mental and physical exhaustion. I turned my head to the right and noticed that my skin had very little color, appearing as if I would be fainting at any moment. But when I pivoted my face to the left, I caught sight of something more alarming.

A bruise.

A bruise with streaks of blue and indigo. Located at the conjunction where my neck meets the hinge of my jaw, its size was small and round. I touched it without thinking and flinched at the slight sting of pain.

Without warning, my mind flashed back to the night before. Dark, cruel eyes. Cold, sinister sneer. A stranger's thumb sinking deeply into the skin of my neck...

I violently moved my head and forth, shaking the unpleasant memories loose. Dwelling on a few minutes of terror would not help me in the long run. If I allow myself to slip into a depressed funk, I'll never be able to find out the truth about Edward, I reminded myself.

Even though it was small and barely noticeable considering the odd place it's located, I had a bad feeling that not everyone would think that the bruise wasn't a big deal. If Charlie were to catch sight of it, he might be tempted to hop into his car, drive back to Port Angeles, and strangle that guy before he can be sent to Texas for prosecution. And having the bruise seen tomorrow at school would not be good either. What if someone were to hear about the attack, see my injury, and then put two and two together? It would become the talk of the school. And I would never live it down.

I carefully spread my long hair around my shoulders, taking care to place clumps of it in front of my ears. I then moved my head from side to side to check the effect I had created. As long as I keep my hair down, I decided, no one will ever know that there's a bruise hidden underneath.

I went to bed afterwards and had a night of fitful sleep. It was sometime after five in the morning when I crawled out of bed and came to sit in my rocking chair. That's where I have been ever since. Its gentle movements are comforting at a time when I need it the most. It even helps to put me to sleep again.

By the time my alarm clocks beeps an hour or so later, the sun is above the horizon and shines brightly into my room. I stretch my arms over my head and wander deliriously to my nightstand to turn the noise off.

After a short shower, I walk to the kitchen and find Charlie standing by the sink, rinsing out his favorite coffee mug. My hand shoots up to check that my hair is safely concealing the bruise on my jaw.

It is.

Charlie puts his cup away, rotates in place, and notices me standing near the kitchen table. "Morning," he greets, observing me with a watchful eye. After my unusual behavior at the dinner table last night, he evidently believes that I am on the brink of having a breakdown of some sort. And sadly, he's probably right. I am either a budding detective who has stumbled upon a trove of hidden secrets, or I belong in a padded room somewhere. His guess is as good as mine.

I glance down at the floor to escape his scrutiny. "Good morning," I answer in a quiet murmur.

"Feeling OK?"

"I'm fine."

There is a pause before he speaks again. "You know, you can stay home today if you want to."

My face jerks up to look him in the eye. Taking a sick day is the very last thing I want. "I need to go to school," I reply in a louder voice. What I really mean is,_ I need to see Edward_. But this will do just as well.

"Are you sure?"

My head moves up and down. "Yes."

Charlie lets out a long sigh. "All right," he acknowledges. He moves to the kitchen table and picks up his police duty belt. "You want me to drive you to school?" he offers as he wraps the belt around his waist.

It's extremely difficult to restrain my cringe of horror. Has Charlie Swan forgotten what it's like to be a teenager? Being dropped off at school in a police cruiser is high school social suicide. It's a notch below showing up on your kid sister's hot pink tricycle.

"No thanks," I answer simply.

I watch Charlie suck in his gut a little as he buckles the duty belt. Once it is fastened, he glances up again. "OK. I'll see you this afternoon. Since Mark's back from his vacation, I should be home by around five o'clock."

I nod and mutter a goodbye as he leaves the kitchen. Soon afterwards, the sound of the front door clicking shut reverberates through the house. My body relaxes somewhat now that he is gone. Who would have thought that hiding a tiny bruise would be so stressful?

I wander over to the refrigerator and take a glimpse of what's inside. There's the basics for breakfast like milk, eggs, and sausage but I don't really have the time to cook anything. Leaving those items alone, I open a cabinet door and begin digging around. Eventually my hand finds what I am looking for. Pop-Tarts.

I try to pull at the box's "easy open" top but I guess the folks down at the factory decided to seal this particular package up extra tight. My fingernail picks at the tab but all I manage to accomplish is ripping some of the paper off from the cardboard - leaving the Pop-Tarts safely inside.

I toss the scrap of paper onto the counter and give the product's logo a dirty look. "Stupid Kellogg's. If they're going to use Super Glue on their products, they could at least warn us on the package somewhere. Or give us a box cutter," I grumble under my breath.

Letting my frustration run wild, I begin attacking the box. I dig and gouge with my fingers until I make a small hole at the top. Using that as leverage, I triumphantly yank the box open. Luckily, the foil wrapper inside is thin and easy to tear apart. I take a small nibble of my breakfast and chew contemplatively. It isn't bad. Though I do have to admit that this would probably taste better if I heated it up in the toaster. But still, it's pretty...

"I'm fairly confident that a blueberry Pop-Tart doesn't count as a serving of fruit," a voice purrs behind me.

"Eek!" I cry out in a subdued squeal. At the same time, my body flinches and my poor Pop-Tart falls onto the linoleum floor.

Spinning around, the first thing I see is Edward.

A shoulder leans against the doorframe while his hand is tucked inside of his pocket. My mouth gapes in a blend of shock and fascination as I study the boy who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Ash gray, crew cut t-shirt. Dark black denim jeans. A pair of Adidas on his feet. Edward _dresses_ like a teenage boy from 2005 even though he doesn't sound or really act like one.

Silent seconds pass by and the corners of Edward's mouth soon dips into a small frown. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," he utters somberly as he moves out of the doorway.

My mouth remains ajar as I search for any sign that he isn't what he presents himself to be. His skin is smooth, supple, and has a hint of beige. His bronze hair is lustrous and in its usual chaotic state. His eyes are energetic and bright. And his body is tall, lean, and clearly in good shape. I see nothing to indicate advanced age. He appears to be a perfectly healthy teenage guy.

When he reaches the halfway point of the kitchen, Edward's hand lifts up from his side. A plain brown paper bag is wedged between his fingers. "Esme made enough muffins to feed an army this morning," he begins in a velvet-soft tone, "and we thought that it would be a shame to just throw them away. I thought that you might like some."

With his explanation complete, he stops a couple of feet away and stares back, evidently waiting for me to speak.

This is my opportunity, I realize. No one is home to listen in to what I need to say. It's just us. I can ask him whatever I want. But my mouth refuses to move. I can barely breathe, let alone form words. Is this what it feels like to have stage fright?

Edward carefully sets the paper bag on the table, his eyes on me the entire time. Ever so slowly, he moves away from the table and reaches out for me. I tremble involuntarily - my skin erupting in goosebumps - when his long fingers wrap around my hand. He feels warm. He feels _real_. Ghosts from the post-Victorian era or figments of overactive imaginations don't have a pulse. At least I don't think they do.

His thumb proceeds to move over my knuckles in the same comforting, circular pattern he did back when we were stuck at the police station the other night. But, it's admittedly difficult to enjoy having your hand held when you have a million questions and worrying hypothesises fighting for your attention. I could conceivably get some relief if I were to speak up, although I'm unsure of how to go about doing it. Should I just go straight to the point and confront him with what I have found?

Then again, do I really want to do that? What if everything I found last night is a gigantic coincidence? If I look hard enough, I might find a Charles Swan living with his daughter Isabella way back in 1910, too - and finding that on an old document doesn't necessarily make me a 104 year old. All of my so-called evidence is circumstantial at best. Do I really want to risk being wrong? What if I were to say, "_Hey, Edward. I know that you were alive when Teddy Roosevelt lived in the White House,_" and then he stares back at me like I'm crazy?

"How are you? Are you all right?" asks Edward in a near whisper, the area around his eyes accented with concern.

It takes a moment for his question to pierce through my conflicted thoughts. I take my time to think it over. I haven't screamed or fainted into a heap... So, I guess that means I'm OK.

My head slowly nods up and down.

"Good. I'm glad," he croons, the sound as sweet as honey.

Still rubbing my knuckles, his other hand goes to rest where my neck joins my shoulder. Through my paralyzing stress, I detect his thumb brushing against my collarbone. A wave of heat passes through me. As if by magic, my stiff shoulders almost instantly loosen from their frozen position. My dry eyes flutter rapidly a few times in a row, and I vaguely notice that I must have gone too long without blinking. More surprising than that, however, my mind decides to reconnect to my mouth.

"And you?" I say in a rasp. I cough to clear my throat, and add, "Are you OK?"

Edward's thick eyelashes lower a little. "Not really. I think I've been away from you for too long."

My head cocks to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I haven't slept well for two nights. I spent yesterday in a mild, depressive state. And, my only highlight was when I spoke to you on the phone. After that, I was useless."

My forehead crumples into a frown. "I don't believe you could ever be considered useless," I retort. Even in my current confused state, I know that is impossible.

For the first time since he materialized in my kitchen this morning, his lips turn up with a hint of a sad smile. "You'd be surprised."

I shake my head at him, not liking how he can put himself down like that. "So you came by just to feed me?" I press, searching for the real reason why he would show up here so early.

He chuckles and rocks his face back and forth. "No. Really I came by to see if you would like a ride to school today."

Guilt crawls its way back inside and takes up permanent residency. Here he goes again being kind and overly considerate while I have done the exact opposite. I spent most of yesterday greedily searching for dirt on his life and family. Then when I couldn't find anything else, all I could focus on was how I would confront him so I could pry out even more. But what I never considered is that what I was doing was an invasion of privacy. If Edward has something to hide - well - if he wanted me to know the truth, he would tell me. I am no better morally than the other busybodies in this tiny, nosy town who spend their days gossiping about you behind your back. In fact, I am much worse. At least they aren't hypocrites like I am apparently.

"You shouldn't go out of your way for me," I lament, my eyes drawing down to the kitchen floor.

"But I'm not."

His hand slowly travels up from my neck and cradles my face. My skin underneath his palm blushes so fiercely that it feels like a fire has been set. But I don't believe fire has ever felt so good.

His eyes roam across my face, lingering on each of my features. My eyebrows. My nose. My mouth and chin. Soon my breathing turns heavy. No one has ever touched me like this. No one has ever _looked_ at me like this - with a hunger that consumes us both.

Edward's eyelids abruptly snap shut, temporarily cutting our connection off. Slowly, he exhales through his nose. When those eyes reopen, they appear slightly more composed than before.

"Don't you know? I _want_ to do things for you," he breathes out, his thumb stroking up and down my cheek. "I would do anything."

His words ignite a chain reaction within me. Every ounce of unease and confusion within me evaporates in its wake. All that remains is a new perspective which helps me to see something that I should have long before.

Wherever or whenever Edward may come from and whatever he may be, he is still the same person that I fell hard for in the last few weeks. He is the guy that sat across the kitchen table and had me smiling every afternoon. He is the boy who has charmed and discombobulated me countless times. I would be crazy to ignore all of those things just because he likely has a few wild secrets to hide.

And honestly, so what if he hasn't shared absolutely everything with me yet? It's not like I have revealed every skeleton hiding in my closet. Actually, there are a few things that I don't ever plan on disclosing. Like, the time I fell asleep during a packed flight and experienced a vivid nightmare. I then produced a blood-curdling scream in the midst of that nightmare which caused two hundred frightened airline passengers to believe that the plane was going down. That shameful secret will die with me.

Maybe one day Edward will be comfortable enough to tell me more. And if he just so happens to announce that he is a 104 year old living inside the body of a young man and that he needs to drink prune juice every morning to keep his skin from wrinkling, I won't freak out. Because in the end, it doesn't really matter how or why he arrived in Forks. As long as he is here, I can handle everything else.

So I lean into his palm and stop worrying about the details. He cares for me. I care for him. Right now, all we should do is relish this moment together.

And I do enjoy it - until something else occurs to me.

Edward always seems to say just the right things and touches me in just the right ways to make my head spin. He obviously knows what he is doing because...well, just look at him. Even girls a hundred years ago wouldn't have been immune to that strikingly handsome face. As for me, I am walking into this situation almost blind. The closest I have had to a boyfriend before now was back in third grade when Caleb Turner left a note on my desk asking if I would be his girlfriend. Since little Caleb had the habit of exploring his nasal cavity with his finger in the middle of class, I politely passed.

Everything I have with Edward is new, exciting, and intimidating. If anyone needs to do some confessing this morning, it's me. He deserves to know before we go any further that I am woefully inexperienced. Hell, before Edward held my hand the other day, the only person who ever did anything close to that was my mother. How humiliating is that?

"I'm-" I falter nervously. My eyes slam shut in the hopes that my confession will be easier to admit if I don't look at him. "I'm not used to this. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he says without delay, still caressing my cheek.

My eyes flap back open and I stare skeptically at him. "Really?"

A few rumbling chuckles shake his chest. "I haven't a clue. You bring it out of me."

I'm not sure what it is that emboldens me. Maybe it's his self-deprecating candor. Or maybe it's his small, boyish smile that has me hooked. Whatever it is, my usual shyness gets shoved to the side. The need to touch him overwhelms me. Both of my hands come up and fist themselves into the fabric of his gray t-shirt.

"You bring it out of me, too," I disclose in a breathy whisper.

The black onyx pupils of his eyes dilate, suddenly surrounded by only a thin ring of forest green. His heart hammers through his t-shirt and strikes against my fist. I gradually come to understand that _I_ am doing this to him. Me. Bella Swan - the girl who just last week would have rolled her eyes in disbelief if someone had said that Edward Masen had any interest in her.

"I don't think that I made a very good friend for you. I wanted to be near you far more often than a mere friend should crave," he recounts, his attention wandering around my face once again.

"I don't think I was either," I agree. Before I can second guess myself on the wisdom of sharing anything else, I'm already talking. "You've been more than a friend to me for a while now."

His eyes dart back up from my mouth and he looks back wordlessly for several beats. "Is that so?"

The heavy weight of his stare has me self-conscious. Now he knows that I have been crushing on him for weeks. I nod once or twice in order to answer his question, but my face moves to the side and away from his penetrating gaze.

Edward's hand travels to my chin and encourages me to come back and stop hiding. Our eyes converge and hold. A thermonuclear device could detonate nearby and I doubt we could look away. If Edward has the ability to hypnotize me, then I believe that I may have the same affect on him.

Little by little, his upper torso bends forward and his gaze becomes heavy-lidded. I don't need to be told why. My hands tug at the front of his shirt, prodding him to move faster.

"I think...that we have a lot of catching up to do," he hums, scarcely moving his lips.

"I agree completely," I murmur, my eyes fluttering closed.

A moment later, his lips brush against mine and progressively increase their pressure. They move effortlessly, as though we have done this a thousand times before. I may not know what I am doing, but it sure seems like my body does. With his every gesture, I respond in kind. The instant his hands tenderly cup each side of my face, my arms wrap themselves around his neck and brings us closer. His touch, his taste, his spicy scent sends my head into a swoon. I hold on to him tighter, relying on his sense of balance to keep me from collapsing to the floor. And when I feel his tongue sweep over my lip, my mouth parts open and welcomes him in.

I don't know how long we stay like this - although I do know that it is not nearly as long as I would like.

When his lips pull away, we gasp like whales coming up for air after a deep sea dive. Edward's forehead comes to rest against my own, his fingers idly playing with a few strands of my hair. His eyes are just above mine, filled with something that I could only describe as adoration.

Everything is perfect now. It's like I am dreaming all of this up. It would make more sense. Only in a fantasy world would any of this take place. But, if this is only a dream, I hope to never wake up.

"Are you sure you're real?" I whisper.

Edward moves his head a few inches back and examines my face. A slow, crooked grin develops. "I was going to ask you the very same thing," teases the boy who may have been a contemporary of my great great grandfather.

My lips curve upwards. "Liar."

Edward's hand tucks a clump of hair behind my ear and his grin softens along with his voice. "Never."

Although I could go on smiling up at him like an idiot forever, I know that school awaits us. I turn to glance at the clock hanging on the wall. We have about fifteen minutes before the tardy bell rings. I don't need Ms. Cope calling Charlie today to inform him that I didn't show up to class today after all.

"_Bella_?" blurts Edward in a sudden intake of breath.

My head whips back around to find him staring wide-eyed at the side of my neck. I had anticipated that Charlie would be upset if he saw what lay beneath my hair, but I neglected to account that Edward might react the same way.

He carefully pivots my head until the bruise is directly in his line of sight. Through my right eye, I witness the tightening of his sculpted jawline.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he urges, his voice pained as he lightly traces over the bruise.

"It's just a tiny bruise. I get them all the time," I explain, trying to minimize the damage.

He blinks a couple of times. Then, before I can understand what is happening, he draws me into a hug. I lay upon the area directly above his heart while his face rests on the top of my head.

"Does it hurt?" he whispers.

I shake my head into his chest. "No. I didn't notice it until I was brushing my teeth last night. It's nothing."

"Don't blow this off."

My eyebrows scrunch down a little. "I'm not. I'm telling you the truth."

"_Bella_," he exhales in an exasperated kind of way. But he doesn't let go.

I allow myself to relax into him, yet my mind runs at full throttle. He and I will soon be at school, surrounded by roughly three hundred and fifty gossip-thirsty students. If Edward were to casually let slip to just one person of his involvement in the incident in Port Angeles, everyone would know by the end of the day. Even if he made no mention of me being the girl who was attacked, it would be likely just a matter of time before someone were to connect the dots.

"I need to ask something from you," I say, backing my face away from his chest.

"Anything."

"Please don't mention what happened Saturday night to anyone."

His eyes become deeper, allowing me to peer into his soul. "I would never do that to you."

I smile faintly up at him. "I know. I just wanted to make sure." Before I can take comfort in his promise, another worrying thought strikes. "What about your brothers and sisters? Do they know?"

"Well, yes, they do know. But I promise that they would never tell anyone. You can trust them. Besides, they won't be at school for a couple of days anyway. They're out of town visiting family friends."

My forehead furrows. It's true that the Cullens aren't likely to go spread the story around. They barely even make eye contact with the other students. However, what I do not understand is why they would leave Forks without Edward.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

His mouth tilts lopsidedly. "Do you really think I would miss out on seeing you just so I could avoid going to school?"

My brow arches at him. "That's what most normal people would do."

He puffs out a small laugh, his eyes brightening playfully. "Well there's the problem. I'm anything but _normal_."

I grin up at him. Truer words have never been spoken.

"I know," I reply amusedly.

We're beginning to get drawn back into one another when the logical part of my brain starts yelling about school for the second time in the last five minutes. I frown at the clock and sigh. "We're going to be late for school if we don't hurry."

Edward's mouth lowers into almost a pout, tempting me to pull his face back down to my level and pick right back up where we left off a couple of minutes ago. "I suppose you're right," he agrees without enthusiasm.

We separate and I dispose of my fallen Pop-Tart in the trash. I peek inside the paper bag Edward brought along with him and am greeted with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked muffins. This will be a far more enjoyable breakfast than what I had been planning to eat.

Thank you, Esme. Even if you are an alien here to take over our planet, you deserve praise for your superior baking skills.

I snatch up a bottle of water along with the paper bag before we hit the door. The two of us jog to his car and speed off like bank robbers fleeing from a heist. Edward guns it, going well over the speed limit. Meanwhile, I dig into the bag and pick a muffin at random. I take a large bite and chew. I don't know what kind this is, but I do taste plenty of sugar and a hint of heaven itself. But it still isn't as delicious as Edward.

"This is good," I comment after I swallow a mouthful.

He smiles a little but doesn't look away from the road. "I hoped you would think so. I had quite a few myself before I left the house. Esme will be pleased to hear that you liked them."

I'm on the verge of taking another bite when I am reminded of something. The hand holding the muffin lowers a few inches and I stare at him. "Edward? How did you get into my house?"

His brows crash together and he glances over at me. "What?"

"You know. This morning. I didn't hear you knock."

Blinking confusedly a few times, a lightbulb appears to flick on behind his eyes. His light laughter soon fills the car. "Is this your way of politely inquiring if I broke into your house, Bella?"

"Maybe..." I trail off, my mouth twisting. I was more so wondering if his time machine has a teleportation function, but I don't think he is ready to talk about that quite yet.

Still wearing a smirk, he answers my question. "Your father was walking out the front door when I drove up. After I spoke with him, he told me to go on into the house. No picking of locks was required," jokes Edward, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Ha, ha," I mock before I shove a piece of my breakfast into my mouth. I may be playing it cool, but I am actually profoundly relieved. At least he can't sneak inside of my house like a ghost anytime he pleases.

I go back to eating and he focuses on driving again. Watching him covertly, I marvel at how laid back he is while maneuvering the car down the streets of Forks. One of his elbows rests on the car door. The window on his side is cracked, allowing the sun-warmed air to blow his hair around. He isn't constantly worried about hitting someone like I am when I drive. He looks like he was born behind the wheel of an automobile.

Unexpectedly, something from Saturday afternoon pops into my head. We were in that museum in Port Angeles and were examining the old photos on the wall when he said:

_"I'm something of an expert in identifying vintage automobiles - mainly pre-World War I vehicles."_

I almost choke.

Grabbing my bottled water, I chug it down until the blockage in my throat clears. I guess Edward wasn't exaggerating when he said that. He probably saw all of those antique cars right after they drove off the factory floor.

Not long after I swallow the last morsel of my breakfast, Edward parks near the school entrance. I notice that we have around five minutes until the bell rings. My fingers reach for the car door handle but he stops me before they make contact.

"Hold on. Let me do that for you," he requests with big, pleading eyes.

My head rocks back in forth in disbelief but I grant his request nevertheless. I guess you can take the boy out of 1910, but you can't take the 1910 out of the boy.

Once I am out of the car, he slams the door shut and swivels around until we're facing one another. There are no clouds in the blue sky to bother us today. The unfiltered sunlight bounces off the dark copper of Edward's hair, making me wish I had a camera to document this rare but spectacular sight.

"Ready?" he asks, both brows rising.

I take another moment to admire him and then glance at the school. My stomach quivers nervously as my teeth pull in my bottom lip. Now that we are here, facing everyone after what happened the other night is beginning to feel like an ordeal that I should have prepared for more thoroughly. I kind of wish that I had taken Charlie up on his offer of letting me have a sick day. But I guess that would just be holding off on the inevitable. I'll be required to come back here eventually whether I want to or not.

But, am I ready for this?

That is an excellent question.

I rotate away from the school and my eyes meet Edward once again. He waits patiently in the same spot as before, not pushing me for an answer. In fact, he appears willing to stay here for as long as I need.

I release the piercing grip on my lip. Yes, today might be difficult to get through, but I'm not quite alone. I have no doubt that if I were to find that I can't handle being here, all it would take is one word and Edward would whisk me back home. But I don't think it will get to that today. Just knowing that he is nearby will soothe my nerves.

Ignoring the unrelenting stares of the students around us, I move to Edward's side. I juggle my school books around until I'm holding them all with only one hand, then I press them into my chest to make it less likely they will fall. Now with a free arm, I scoop up his hand and look up at his slightly puzzled face.

"I am now," I answer.

A smile which mirrors my own illuminates his face. We walk towards the school, barely paying attention to our surroundings. If we are being monitored by anyone - which, to be honest, is highly likely considering where we live - we pay them no mind.

"Do you need to stop by your locker?" wonders Edward once we draw closer to my first class.

"No."

We are among the last people still roaming around when we make it to my English classroom. I let go of his hand and peek inside. Around twenty of our classmates are watching us, their heads turned awkwardly so they won't risk missing anything. I huff a sigh of annoyance. Don't they have anything better to do than stare at two people trying to say goodbye?

Oh. That's right. Nope. They don't.

The bell warning that we have two minutes remaining sounds. I turn my back on our audience and focus on Edward.

"I'll be right around the corner. In Mr. Jefferson's class," he says in a low voice.

My head bobs up and down. "I know."

"If you need anything, you can come to me."

"OK."

"Just knock on Mr. Jefferson's door and say that you saw someone trying to break into my car. He won't question you too closely and I'll leave right away."

I chew my lips to hold in my laugh. "Don't you have a car alarm that would tell you that?"

"Yes. But Mr. Jefferson doesn't know that, does he?"

"I'll be fine," I reassure him.

Edward nods and absentmindedly smooths down his hair. "Will you wait here for me? After class?"

"Yes," I answer. My fingers itch to tug him closer, but I fight the urge before it lands us in trouble. I doubt my teacher would appreciate Edward and me making out in the classroom doorway. That would probably be a fire hazard.

"You better get going before you're late," I say, somehow already missing him.

"I won't be. I have a whole minute to make it in time."

My eyes roll when I smile. "Edward. _Go_."

He steps backwards in preparation to leave and his manner reverts back to seriousness. "I'll be back in one hour," he reminds me. As I move into the classroom, I peek over my shoulder to watch him take off in the direction of his U.S. Government class.

Reluctantly leaving the doorway, I scan the area as I head towards my desk. Most of the faces around the classroom are curiously observing me as I pass by. A few, like Eric and a girl who borrowed a pen from me last week, are faintly smiling. Yet there is one face that temporarily stops me in my tracks.

Frosty blue, glaring eyes. Blonde eyebrows smashed together. Widely flaring nostrils.

_Crap_.

Mike is pissed.

I had forgotten that Edward and I made him angry the other day. I've kind of had my head filled with other things that do not involve Mike or childish bullying tactics that backfired. When he tried to keep Edward from coming with us to La Push, I refused to get inside of his SUV and instead chose to travel with Edward. Mike immediately stomped off and hasn't said a word to me since.

I quietly slide into my seat and pretend that I need to organize my things, hoping that he won't try to start anything if he sees that I am busy. But Mike chooses to go ahead and start something anyway.

"So, the rumors are true? You're with _Masen_ now?" he emphasizes in a grumble.

My eyes dart over to his scowling face. His arms have crossed in front of himself as he stares angrily at me.

I keep my own facial expression flat and seemingly unaffected, however I am actually very irritated.

"That's really no one's business but my own, Mike," I answer in a clipped tone.

He shifts back into his chair and snorts. "I can't believe this. I thought you were smarter than the other girls around here, Bella."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

The bell rings but our teacher hasn't put in an appearance yet. Mike takes a look around and notices that a few of our classmates are trying to listen in to our conversation. He turns his body in his chair and leans forward to put less distance between us.

"It means that you bought into his _bullshit_ just like they did," he hisses at a quieter volume. "So what was it about Masen that got you in the end? Was it the Cullen wealth? Their fancy mansion? The outrageous sports cars they insist on driving around? Or, was it just having access to the Cullens themselves that convinced you to give him a shot? Ever since you sat with them the other day, the school hasn't stopped talking about it. Your popularity has gone through the roof."

I have always tried to be nice to Mike - even when I probably shouldn't have. He has acted like a jerk on more than one occasion. But this is going too far.

"Since you are obviously upset right now, I will try to ignore the fact that you would say something so insulting about me," I snap back.

"_Sure_. That's what you're great at - _ignoring_ _things_. That's all you've done lately is ignore me. But let me ask you something, Bella. Who was the guy that has been there for you since day one? Me. Who was the guy that you hung out with every day? Me. Who was the guy you would always act like you wanted to talk to? Me. We were doing just fine up until we started letting Masen sit at our lunch table. Then _everything_ changed. I _knew_ having him there was a bad idea," he ends, curling his lip.

The frown on my face slackens somewhat. He still doesn't get it. He appears to be living under the delusion that he and I were meant to be an item. But that would have never happened. Even if Edward and I had never crossed paths, Mike would not have made it past the friend zone. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he leaves me no choice.

"Mike, I'm sorry if you misinterpreted what we were, but the fact remains that you and I have never been anything more than friends."

He stares back unmoving for several uncomfortable seconds. "Friends," he repeats in monotone.

"Yes. And I hope that we still can be."

As soon as that leaves my mouth, his glare blazes more intense than before. Then, without another word, he drags his desk as far away from me as he possibly can. With his face pointed straight ahead, he never so much as glances my way. In his world, I no longer exist.

I emit a tired sigh and flip open my English textbook. Evidently Mike isn't ready to forgive me for committing the sin of being with Edward.

**00000000000000000000**

I try to pay attention to the English lesson for the next hour, but my daydreams of the kitchen incident from this morning proves to be a distraction. Though, the bright side of having my mind otherwise pleasantly occupied is that I don't have time to worry about anything else - like Mike, the events from Saturday night, or mysteries that have yet to be fully explained.

When the bell rings at the end of class, my no longer just "kinda" boyfriend is back by my side roughly thirty seconds later. During the walk to my next class, I quietly summarize Mike's temper tantrum. Edward just narrows his eyes a bit and says that he isn't surprised at all by the outburst.

When second period ends, he's back to be my escort to third period Trig. We are very aware that this is creating talk amongst the student population, but Edward promises that their interest will soon wane.

"Once they have visual proof that two people are officially together, most of the gossips around here get bored fairly quickly," he explains, gently holding my hand as we walk. "I give it two more days, and then they won't care what we do."

Our feet halt at the math building and we linger off to the side of the entrance. "And you think walking to our classes together makes it official enough to them?" I ask inquisitively.

Edward sucks in a cheek, as though to mull over my words. "You're right," he says in slow drawl. "Perhaps that isn't enough to convince them. Do you think we should help make their findings indisputable?"

My forehead puckers - wondering what he's getting at - when a devilish glint in his eyes sparks. He lifts our joined hands high and teasingly pecks the top of my fingers with a kiss. Straight away, my eyes glaze over like a holiday ham.

"_There_," he simpers mischievously. "That should do it."

I have no idea if anyone saw that. My tunnel vision will not allow me to look away from his face. "You just gave them more to yap about," I murmur in a daze.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not," I counter. He can't possibly be sorry for what he just did because even I don't regret it. All I did during my first two classes was sigh over the realization that I now have full access to Edward's lips and how badly I want to revisit them. But that little kiss on my hand was like giving a person dying of thirst only a small drop of water even though there's a whole canteen full nearby. And I need more than a drop. Unfortunately for me, that chaste peck will have to last until we get out of school this afternoon.

Edward's mouth purses slightly. "While it's true that I am not sorry for what I did, I am greatly sorry for what they may say about it. I know how much you hate it when they focus all of their attention on you." His thumb begins stroking the back of my hand. "Will you forgive me?" he asks with those smirking green eyes.

I moisten my bottom lip and audibly swallow. "I guess you can make it up to me later," I respond, looking up through my lashes.

That wipes away the cocky smile on his face. His eyes grow large as they flick down to my mouth and back up again. A low moan then vibrates his throat. "This day isn't going by nearly as fast as I would like," he admits in a pained whimper.

I should gloat at how my newfound power of seduction can reduce him into a needy mess. But I can't. I am just as desperate to get out of here as he is apparently. Too bad the janitor keeps the maintenance closet locked.

The impending sound of the bell forces us to break away and head in opposite directions. I walk into Trig with my head in the clouds and on weak knees made of pure jello. What if Mr. Varner calls for me to give an answer to one of his impossible math problems and I am still like this? I hope I don't shout out something dumb. Like, Edward's name. Or the fact that his lips tasted like dark chocolate this morning...

"Hello! Earth to Bella," shouts a voice into my ear.

"Huh?" I grunt.

I scan my surroundings and discover that despite my internal monologue, my legs ran on autopilot and guided me safely to my desk - which is good. However, I also discover that Jessica is sitting here watching me with keen eyes - which is bad.

Her mouth spreads into a broad smile. "I've been talking to you for a while and all you've done is sit there mumbling to yourself," she reveals.

"Oh. Sorry," I squirm. "I must have been lost in my thoughts."

Jessica drags her chair over and leans her elbow on my desk, her chin resting in her hand. "Yeah. I noticed," she smiles, her gaze never leaving my face. "So...anything new to share since I last saw you?"

If she only knew how much has happened to me in the past two days, she would have enough material to gossip over for the rest of her life.

I gnaw the inside of my mouth and try to look away. "Not too much."

She bursts out into giggles and shakes her head. "God, Bella! You are - like - the _worst_ at lying." The corners of my mouth lowers grumpily but she keeps on going. "I saw you and Edward just now. He looked like he would be hauling you off somewhere private at any second. And you looked ready to attack him with your face. I even said 'hey' when I passed by but neither one of you heard me. It was like you guys were in another dimension and couldn't see anyone else. You two have obviously gone from 'slow' to 'full speed ahead' with this thing. So, cough it up, Bella. He kissed you, right?"

In wide-eyed panic, I shake my head back and forth. At the same time, my lips suck themselves inside of my mouth - as if to hide the evidence from this morning.

Jessica holds her belly and she laughs harder. Her heads even tilts a few degrees like she feels sorry for me. "_Wow_. You really need lessons on how to be more convincing when you lie," she chortles. Once her laughter dies down, she scoots closer. "Come on," she whines. "I'm curious. You know if I were dating someone, I would tell you how it was. I don't need to know everything. Just give me a few scraps. Or just crumbs even! Whatever you choose to tell me won't leave this room. I swear!" She then crosses her heart like it's a solemn oath.

I have trouble believing that she can keep anything private. It is in her nature to spread everything that she hears to half of the county. Although I am hesitant to give her a detailed analysis of what has been going on, I have to admit that her question isn't as invasive as it could have been. And, frankly, if today is a foreshadowing of things to come, Jessica will likely catch a glimpse of Edward and me glued together soon anyway. What's the use of hiding it?

My arms wrap around myself like a blanket. Then my head nods up and down nervously.

"Yes! I knew it!" she trills, her balled up fists shaking with excitement. "So what was it like?"

What is it like kissing a boy with bronzed-hair, teasing smile, and who likely possesses more secrets than Area 51 - a possibility which now no longer bothers me very much?

"It was...mind altering," I confess.

She settles her chin back into her hand and gazes back with starry eyes. "Whoa," she exhales. "He must have Frenched you good then."

My face mimics a chameleon's and changes into roughly three shades of red. I guess I'm not ready for that type of in-depth girl talk. Although, I do inwardly agree that what she said is completely true.

Mr. Varner calls for everyone's attention while my blushing skin returns to its normal hue. This stops Jessica before she can quiz me on anything else, thank goodness.

When Edward joins us as we travel to Fourth period Spanish an hour later, I am almost proud of Jessica for not peppering him with a bunch of embarrassing questions. But that might be because she is simply saving them up for me to answer later. All she asks him is if we've picked "our song" yet, what is the likelihood of the two of us joining her and her so far nonexistent boyfriend on a double date sometime in the future, and if we prefer Edwella or Belward as our supercouple nickname. Judging by the grimace he is giving me, I'm going to guess that Edward does not care for either one.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, the three of us head to the table where Angela sits and Edward seats himself in the chair by me. I'm about to take a bite of my hamburger when I see Mike exiting the lunch line. After our argument, I am not sure how to be around him. Either I can try to get along with him for the sake of keeping the peace, or I purposely ignore him until he apologizes.

But Mike does not allow me to utilize either option. He stomps away and arrives at a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria - the one that everyone at school refers to as Jock HQ. It is mainly comprised of football players and, occasionally, one of their girlfriends if the girl in question can stand listening to an hour of them explaining why they lost every single game last season.

"Wha-?" squawks Jessica as she observes him dropping his lunch tray upon the faraway table. "What's Mike doing over there for? He always sits with us."

I silently shrug as though I have no idea why he would stay away. Edward's stare turns cold as it zeros in on Mike. I'm not sure why. I doubt he is upset at missing out on all of Mike's camping stories. Maybe he's just ticked that since Jessica won't have Mike to chitchat with today, she will be talking our ears off now.

Ben Cheney strolls up not long afterwards and distracts us from worrying over Mike. Angela encourages him to take the empty chair beside her and they jump directly into a conversation. Ben recounts some old Chuck Norris movie he watched over the weekend while Angela listens rapturously, alternating between twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger and laughing into her hand.

Jessica watches them with a comically gaping mouth. Evidently, her web of gossip had not yet caught wind of this burgeoning relationship. She also has probably never observed Angela get all girly and giggly before. I know I haven't. And she definitely has never seen Ben talk so casually around a member of the opposite sex. Before today, he would usually take cover at a table in the far corner of the lunchroom and avoid direct eye contact.

"What's going on?" interrupts Jessica, her eyes moving back and forth between the two people chatting.

Angela tears her gaze away from the bespectacled boy next to her. "Um... Ben came over because we have some things we need to talk about. You don't mind, do you?"

"No. You guys go right on ahead. I guess..." Jessica trails off, furrowing her forehead confusedly.

Ben takes a moment to peek at Jessica and then clears his throat. "Yeah. I guess we'd better start figuring things out now before it's too late, huh?"

"At least we have a few days," replies Angela before she scoops up a forkful of spaghetti and slurps it down.

He scratches the side of his neck and fidgets in his seat. "W-well... Uh. Maybe we should at least decide on what time to meet up."

The loose strands of hair which frame Angela's face whip around as she nods her head up and down. Once she finishes swallowing her food, she says, "Yeah. You're right."

Ben bows his face down to his tray - as if he is having a conversation with his chicken nuggets instead of an actual person. "I know it starts at seven," he comments hesitantly. "But, I was thinking that if I picked you up at six, we could grab something to eat first?"

He is met with only prolonged silence.

His head tentatively raises a few inches until his gaze crosses with Angela's. A shy smile on her face is being aimed in his direction. "We could do that," she answers.

"Yeah?" he asks more animatedly than before, his dark eyes shining through his thick prescription glasses.

"Well, sure. We gotta eat anyway, right?"

"Wait!" cuts in Jessica, throwing up her hand to butt into their conversation again. "Are you two planning to have a friendly snack together before doing some homework? Or, are you guys - like - dating or something?" She gives Edward and me the side-eye for a few beats. "Though, sometimes that turns out to mean the same thing, doesn't it?" she ends pointedly, arching her brow.

I shove in a tater tot and frown at her. How dare she call us out like that in front of everyone.

Glancing over at Edward, I expect to find him just as irritated as I am. Instead he's sipping from a bottle of lemonade and attempting to conceal a smile. He catches me looking and tosses a subtle wink.

I go ahead and frown at him too. The one time he and I could combine forces and be mad at Jessica as a team, he has to go and think that what she said was _funny_. I'll never completely understand him.

Angela peeks at Ben and then pushes her glasses up her nose. "We're going to the dance together," she clarifies.

With eyes expanding, the lines on Jessica's forehead become more noticeable as it lifts higher. "_This_ Saturday's dance?" she stresses. "But I thought you said that you weren't going."

"I changed my mind," Angela shrugs.

That's all it takes to push Jessica into hyperactive mode. Her mouth starts moving at a million miles an hour, describing how much better the dance will be now that Angela will be there, too. She plasters on her sad puppy-dog eyes and tries to beg me to go as well, but I squash her hopes by reminding her that I will be in Seattle that day. I would much rather deal with a numb butt because of a three hour long car ride than fall on it while dancing in front of the students and staff of Forks High. Plus, I'll have Edward for company during the trip. Seattle wins hands down. It's a no brainer, really.

Once Jessica realizes that there is no chance she can sway me away from Seattle, she starts yammering about dance themes, DJs, and the many other headaches of being on the dance committee.

"I've been putting off getting my dress," she shares in between mouthfuls of her salad. "I have a few ideas on what I want it to look like now though. Have you gotten yours yet, Ang?"

"No. Not yet."

"Ooh!" she squeaks, her lips forming an O shape. "Let's go pick out our dresses together! We can carpool."

Squinting reflectively, Angela takes a few seconds to think. "OK... So, when would we go?"

"How about tonight?"

"Sure," Angela agrees. "That should be OK."

"Great," chirps Jessica. A frown unexplainably appears and jerks down the corners of her mouth. "But we'll have to do everything by eight o'clock, though."

"Why?"

Jessica exhales noisily and stabs her food with a fork. "Because of my _mom_. She's gone crazy or whatever. She said until she hears that the police have rounded up the criminals hanging around Port Angeles, that I can't be there past eight. I've tried telling her that she can't expect me to be stuck in Forks for the rest of my life just because one bad thing happened there."

I swear my heart stops for a moment when I hear her say that last sentence.

Jessica shoves in a bite from her fork and then proceeds to chew around her words. "I mean, they caught the guy, ya know? He isn't gonna get me. He's locked up. But Mom said that criminals are like cockroaches - if you see one, there's probably more hiding somewhere nearby."

I place my half-eaten hamburger on my tray and try to concentrate on appearing unfazed by where this new conversation is heading. But twiddling my fingers under the table does me no good.

"What happened?" asks Angela as she stirs her vanilla pudding cup.

Jessica's forehead shoots up until it hits her hairline. "What? You didn't hear? It was all over the news last night. Some girl in Port Angeles was out by herself on Saturday night and got _dragged off_ by some loser. But the guy who did it was caught before he could really do anything." Blinking rapidly in excitement, she hunches forward to share more. "And, ohmygod, you won't _believe_ this. That guy is wanted in - like - a bunch of other states for rape and even a _murder__. _That is _so_ creepy!"

My knee vibrates out of control. I didn't realize that the local news picked up on the story...

"I heard about that, too," pipes in Ben. "They showed his mugshot this morning. Looked like the cops did a number on his face before they 'cuffed him." He shakes his head and sets down his Sprite can. "Had a nasty black eye, busted nose, and bruises all over. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to sue the city for police brutality - although I doubt he'd get anything for it considering what he's done."

My hand unconsciously reaches up to ensure that my hair hangs over the mark on my back jaw.

"I know, right!" bursts out Jessica. "I would not be surprised if, like, the national news hears about him being caught here and wants to do a story. Wouldn't that be awesome?! We could all go up there while they're filming and maybe have a chance at getting on camera!"

Something stealthily moves onto my lap and grasps my hand, rubbing soothing circles across my knuckles. My eyes flick over to Edward's face. He's feigning indifference to their conversation and continuing to eat using his left hand. No one would ever guess that he is working hard to keep me calm.

"I don't know if that would be a good idea, Jess," comments Angela while scrunching her nose.

"Why not?" she whines.

"Because it would look like you're trying to steal attention away from what happened."

"Na-uh! All I want is for us to be in the background. You know. Behind the reporter? We wouldn't even wave or anything. We'll be like...totally respectful."

"But you wouldn't know where to go," Angela points out. "You'd have to drive all over the place until you found them."

Jessica's enthusiasm deflates somewhat. Her shoulders droop and she pouts at Angela. "They can't be _that_ hard to find. You see other people do it all the time. All we would need to do is go to the place where that guy was caught. You can bet that's one of the places where the big news crews will go."

Ben quickly finishes chewing and swallows down a mouthful of his food before he adds more to the topic at hand. "But the cops haven't said much of anything about what he did. They refuse to give out any information other than the basics. They wouldn't even say in what part of town it happened in. I think they said that they're trying to protect the identity of the victim."

Jessica's pout becomes more pronounced. She silently resumes eating her salad while most of the rest of us follow her example. But not me. My appetite is long gone.

While I am trying to resume normalcy, the brown curls on Jessica's head flop around as her face abruptly pops up from its downward position.

"Bella!" she shouts, a new smile yanking up her former frown. "_You_ could help us! Since your Dad's a cop, I'd bet you anything that he knows some details. Will you ask him? All you gotta do is get him to tell you a couple of things. Like, where that guy was arrested... Ooh! And maybe where he kidnapped that girl. All the big networks would want a shot of where that took place, too."

I pretend that I need to take a drink while I hide my rising panic behind my cup of ice tea. As the seconds tick by, the pressure to say something increases. I can feel all of their eyes on me - which only serves to make my condition much worse. I don't know what to say to them. I'm no good at coming up with excuses off the cuff. Besides, all it would take is one good look at my face and they will know that I am lying.

My breathing escalates, forcing my lungs to work overtime. Yet, as though I am trapped in a paradox, it no longer feels like I am receiving enough air. The cafeteria begins to rotate around me. How can panic strangle you almost as effectively as a hand crushing a throat?

"Chief Swan never speaks about open cases," Edward intervenes, his hand remaining firmly wrapped around mine. "Especially ones of this magnitude. And he prefers to keep his home life separate from his job. I tried to get him to talk about when the tip jar was stolen from the diner last year, and he shut me down right away."

Jessica dramatically puffs out her cheeks as she exhales. "Well that sucks," she complains.

Her yammering mouth drifts back to the spring dance being held this weekend, finally appearing to drop the other subject. She starts ticking off on her fingers all of the girls she knows that have already secured their dresses and what they look like.

While she is occupied, my eyes clamp shut. Since the danger has passed, my heaving chest gradually returns to a calmer state. I was embarrassingly close to having to leave the table and escape outside.

"Hey Bella?" she calls out, interrupting my thoughts. "You wanna come to Port Angeles with Ang and me? I know you said that you're not coming to the dance, but you can help us pick out our dresses."

I writhe in my chair, shifting a leg to hold down my bouncing one. Returning to Port Angeles before that man can be extradited out of state never occurred to me before. But now that I'm thinking about it, I discover that I do not want to be in the same area as him. I want to remain far away. The farther I am, the less likely I will hear about him.

"I-I... don't think..." I stutter, biting down hard on my lip.

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun," entices Jessica in a shrill voice. "And we can have dinner afterwards."

I search out for Edward's face. Something passes between us. And before I know it, he's spouting out another lie.

"I'm afraid that Bella has already promised to help me tonight," he relaxedly improvises. "I've had trouble understanding _Macbeth,_ so she has suggested that we watch a stage adaptation before our paper is due."

Jessica's mouth slants confusedly. "A stage adaptation? Where's it being performed? It's too early in the year for the PA community theater to host anything."

"I have acquired a copy the BBC version of the play," Edward quickly explains.

"Oh. They have that on DVD?" Jessica questions, her lips puckering with surprise. "If I had known that, I wouldn't have spent last week trying to decipher Act Two. I really don't understand Shakespeare's language. It's all _alases_, _harks_, _thees_, and _thous_. It doesn't make sense! Do you think the DVD will have English subtitles?"

During the time where Angela attempts to explain that subtitles would not help, Edward's eyes find me again. For my sole benefit, a tiny smile perks up the ends of his mouth.

He's good at keeping secrets. Just like I am.

My knee shakes one final time before it gives up. And I smile back.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Were you hoping to get some answers? Well, it's coming. Soon. I promise.**

**Next Chapter****\- A trip to Seattle where Bella sneakily extracts information. And Edward suggests taking Bella somewhere special.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	23. Show And Tell

**Chapter 23- Show And Tell**

**March 12, 2005**

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When Saturday arrives, I wake up not long after 6:30 in the morning and run around trying to dress myself before Edward gets here. He and I are driving to Seattle today - something that I have looked forward to all week. Getting out of Forks for a few hours and being in a large, bustling city again makes up for having to drag myself out of bed so early.

Considering what happened in Port Angeles, I thought Charlie would try to put his foot down and forbid me to go. But I was wrong. On Monday night during dinner, I reminded him of my upcoming trip and held my breath as I waited for his reaction. All he did was question me about where I would go in the city, what time I would be back, and if I was going alone. Based on his twitching mustache, I had the feeling that the last question was the most important. I admitted that Edward was my ride and that we would be back around dark. He nodded his head and said that we should have a easy drive since the forecast predicted clear skies for that particular day.

Because he took it so well, I had assumed that Charlie trusted me and was satisfied by my assurance that I would stay safe. Then, yesterday, I noticed that there was a new phone number programed into our landline. Charlie had written the letters "EM" in blue ink on the phone's little card. I was immediately suspicious. I pressed the corresponding digit, listened to the phone connect to the call, and then heard Edward's cellphone ring while he sat at the kitchen table. He confessed that Charlie had requested his phone number and gave him instructions to call if _anything_ happened to us while in Seattle. That's when it hit me that Charlie views Edward as both my boyfriend _and_ babysitter now. I was _very_ close to reminding my father through an irate rant that I shouldn't be treated like child. But my better judgement told me to keep my mouth shut. The trip is more important than my pride.

Along with Edward's new title of boyfriend, he continues to be my study partner. You might think it unwise to have someone so distracting be around while you are trying to concentrate on homework, but I have found that it is actually extremely helpful. As soon as school lets out for the day, we rush to my house and go straight to work. We each bury our noses into whatever subject we must study for that day and focus on completing it without making any careless mistakes. We cannot afford making any of those. Mistakes cost valuable time. The quicker we are done with our schoolwork, the sooner Edward can pull me onto his lap and work on _me_. I have found that having his lips somewhere on my skin is a perfect reward after studying so hard.

To keep Charlie happy and Edward bullet-free, we have implemented a couple of rules now that our relationship has changed. The first rule is that once my dad steps foot into the house, Edward and I cannot be connected in any way other than hand holding. Although I'm sure Charlie knows that Edward and I are doing more than that when he isn't around, I still don't believe rubbing it in his face is a good idea. Edward agrees with me. As soon as he detects the front door knob being turned, Edward removes his lips from my neck (or wherever he was devoting attention to) and retreats to a safe distance away. I don't understand how he can even hear it. Either his sense of hearing is greatly superior to mine, or I become so lost in what he does to me that I block out everything else in the world. It's probably the latter, though.

The second rule we follow is that at least one of us must stay downstairs at all times. If we were to study in my bedroom, it would likely put things inside of Charlie's brain that I would rather him not think about. Like the fact that I am a girl, Edward is a boy, and that there is a bed in my room that could conceivably hold two people. Of course, Edward hasn't tried going _that_ far with me yet. After all, it's only been five days since we figured out this kissing thing. Other than his apparent obsession with lavishing my neck and hands with affection, I would say that our after school activities have been pretty tame. But we still don't want to give Charlie any ideas to the contrary. So, we stay downstairs.

As for school, it's much better now than it was a few days ago. No one brought up the Port Angeles incident after Monday's lunchroom fiasco - thank goodness. Conversations are mostly back to the boring and predictable - except for one notable exception. The student population of Forks High now devotes most their interest and gossip to a brand new couple.

When Edward and I drove to school Tuesday, no one rubbernecked as we walked across the student parking area. No one tried to listen in to our private conversations or gawked when he and I strolled from class to class. We were rightfully perplexed by this swift change of their interest.

Later that day, I entered third period Trigonometry and found Jessica absorbedly doodling in her pink notebook. When I took a seat, her eyes strayed away from the paper and beamed up at me.

"You'll-never-guess-what-happened-to-me!" she bursted in a nanosecond, her body bouncing in her seat as though she were on a trampoline.

Before I could say a word, she went on talking. "It's finally happening! Can you believe it? I bet it's all over the school, huh? It's - like - a dream come true, you know? I thought he was never going to make his move. God, I was _so_ wrong! He just needed the extra time to see how much I mean to him. And just think! It's right in time for the spring dance! That night's gonna be a _billion_ times more magical. Do you think it's too early for me to pick out a matching dress and tux for prom? What do you think?"

"_What?_" I blinked confusedly.

Jessica rolled her eyes around their sockets and giggled. "Oh. I guess you _haven_'_t_ heard then. Really, Bella. You and Edward have been so wrapped up in one another. You haven't paid attention to any of the latest news - have you?"

I couldn't deny it. It was the truth. However, even before my relationship status changed with Edward, I rarely paid attention to the "news" around this place. So, I half shrugged and nodded in agreement that I had received no gossip that morning which would explain her excitement.

"I thought so," she snorted. Jessica dropped her pencil upon her notebook and moved closer. "OK... So, this is - like - _huge_ news. Are you ready for it?" She inserted a dramatic pause and took a deep breath. "Mike and I are... together!"

I was so baffled that my eyebrows practically glued themselves into a single line. Just the day before, Mike had thrown a fit at having seen Edward and me together. And the very next day he has a girlfriend?

"_What_?" I said for the second time in less than a minute.

Jessica's mouth raised into a haughty smirk. "You heard me. We're together now." As if she were showing me proof, she held up her notebook for me to inspect. The page featured her name, the word "Love", plus Mike's name written in bold, bubble letters. The rest of the paper was covered with hundreds of miniature hearts of varying sizes.

Jessica went on to tell me that Mike had been waiting after school the day before and wondered if she would be willing to help him with his English assignment. She told him that she couldn't because she and Angela were driving to Port Angeles to buy their dresses for the upcoming spring dance. It was somewhere after this was explained to me that I began questioning the accuracy of her story. She claimed that he then begged her to reschedule the trip because he needed her so "desperately". After giving in to his pleas, Jessica explained that heartfelt declarations of love were sworn while they came up with a decent subject for Mike to write a report on.

I figured that it was just her fantasies talking again. It wasn't uncommon for her to take an innocent remark or incident and twist it around in order for it to fit into her delusions. So I was understandably blown away when I discovered that Jessica had been telling the absolute truth.

We were walking out of our Spanish class when I spotted two people standing outside of the door. One was Edward, leaning up against the wall and waiting for me. The other was Mike who stood several feet away.

"Hey there!" he smiled at Jessica.

She sucked in a gulp of air and stared back with beaming eyes. "Ohmygosh! I was literally just telling Bella how I couldn't wait to see you!"

"Me too. I want to show you off," he professed.

"_Aww!_" she swooned, her hand covering her heart.

Mike then wrapped an arm across the back of her neck and guided her towards the cafeteria, never saying a word to me or anyone else. It was no big surprise. He never speaks to Edward unless he has to, and he hadn't acknowledged me since our argument from the day before.

Once the two of them began to walk off, Edward abandoned the brick wall which he had been propped against and moved by my side. I promptly took his hand and looked up into his eyes.

"Well, that's a surprise. I thought she was exaggerating when she said they were together now," I shared perplexedly.

Edward barked a short laugh without smiling. "It is - but then again, it isn't."

"What do you mean?"

He rocked his head back and forth and glanced down at the sidewalk for a few, brief seconds. At a leisurely pace, his face resumed its normal position and made eye contact with me again. A slow smile slanted up the ends of his mouth. "I do believe he is attempting to make a certain someone jealous," he added in a wink.

My gaze unfocused as I attempted to make sense of what he was saying. On the morning before, Mike had a hissy fit because he realized that he and I were not going to be anything other than friends. The next day, he heaps attention on Jessica. And Edward believes that Mike is trying to make someone jealous...

"No," I gasped.

"Yes," Edward countered breezily.

My face hardened into a scowl. How could Mike do something like that? I knew that he was angry, but using Jessica as a way to get back at me? As though I would suddenly see that I care for him, dump Edward, and beg for him to come back?

"But that's ridiculous!" I hissed.

Edward's mouth twisted to the side and his brow cocked up. "And that's Mike for you."

Although I wanted to let Jessica know what was going on, Edward pointed out that she probably would not believe me. And sadly, I knew that he was right. Jessica would assume that I was trying to swing the school's attention off of them and back on Edward and me or something similarly ludicrous. So, I kept quiet. Edward insists that she will soon see for herself that Mike has ulterior motives. For her sake, I hope he is correct.

But all thoughts of school and unpleasant incidents in Port Angeles are banished today. Edward and I are leaving them behind us in Forks. Seattle deserves our full attention.

I'm upstairs stuffing my rarely used purse with a few essentials when I hear a car pull into the driveway. A split second later, I'm holding on to the handrail as I rush down the stairs to open the front door. When I swing it open, Edward is just now setting foot upon the porch. The adorable grin on his face has me flinging myself into his waiting arms.

Once we pry ourselves apart, we get into his car and hit the road. The sun is out again today, giving the passing landscape a renewed beauty. The customary dullness of the Olympic forest has been brushed with dozens of shades of green and brown. Crystal clear streams reflect the sunlight, making the day appear even brighter. Charlie is currently stationed at one of them, armed with a fishing pole and his walkie talkie hanging from his hip. I have a feeling that he would be taking his boat out today if it weren't for my trip to Seattle. Instead, he's staying on the mainland where the police radio signal is stronger. I'm sure he has instructed someone down at the police station to radio him if I were to call.

Traffic thins out as we distance ourselves from Forks. And, little by little, I observe the speedometer tick upwards. Every so often, Edward comes upon a slow vehicle and he passes around it with the same enthusiasm as a chess player hopping his Knight over his opponent's piece. After the speedometer hits 77 miles per hour, I can no longer keep my mouth shut.

"May I ask you a personal question?" I deadpan.

Edward's head moves up and down, silently agreeing.

I try to maintain a straight face. "Is it against your religious beliefs to obey the speed limit signs?"

His mouth twitches, suppressing a smile. "No. But I do disagree with them on moral grounds. No one should be expected to drive only 55 miles per hour on a perfectly straight highway. It's outrageous."

"Hmm. Is that the excuse you plan on giving the traffic court judge one day?"

His lips lifts into that crooked grin that never fails to make my breath catch. "I doubt it. If I ever do get stopped for speeding, Alice would probably come and talk the police officer into letting me off with just a warning," he jokes.

No longer able to contain it, a laugh pours from my throat. In the last few days, Edward has been more forthcoming with details about his home life. According to him, Alice is an overly energetic, mischief-maker that has a talent for flattering unsuspecting individuals until she can extract herself out of trouble. Jasper is a laid back guy who is obsessed with history and isn't above watching war documentaries for hours at a time. Rosalie never holds back her opinion and can be viewed as standoffish sometimes, but she won't hesitate to defend her family if someone threatens them. Emmett loves wrestling and cracking jokes that make you uncomfortable. Although Carlisle is a top notch doctor that works tirelessly for his patients, he takes time every night to be Edward's mentor and most trusted friend. And on top of Esme's many special abilities, she also is an impressive artist who enjoys painting landscapes.

Edward's siblings showed back up to school on Wednesday and actually acknowledged my presence whenever they saw me. For example, Edward and I passed by one of his brothers during our trip to second period. Jasper gave a small smile, looked me in the eye, and said, "Hi, Bella." Around twenty nearby students gaped at me as though I were a wizard who had just forced Jasper to speak by utilizing a magical incantation. Later, a boy with frosted highlights in his hair asked how I was able to get Jasper to speak. My answer of "I don't know. By being polite?" appeared to have made the boy more bewildered than ever.

Even though I haven't pressed Edward on anything (like the fact that is name is on a document from almost a hundred years ago, or that his adopted family members are far too perfect to be normal human beings), I can't lie and say that I don't wonder what the truth could be. I often run scenarios through my head while I lounge in bed at night, yet none ever sound right. It's hard to get a decent night's sleep when there are mysteries afoot.

It's midmorning when Edward and I approach the Seattle city limits. Gigantic billboards advertise everything from auto accident lawyers to donut shop coffee. Fast food joints and strip malls are littered everywhere you look. Hundreds of cars battle for a better position on the interstate, their frustrated drivers honking their horns and cursing whenever someone cuts them off.

God, I've missed this. Living in a town whose population isn't much larger than the customers currently shopping at that Super Walmart we just passed by makes you more appreciative of what bigger cities have to offer.

Edward takes the exit ramp leading into the heart of the city. It isn't long before we're stuck behind a line of cars. He pivots his head enough to watch me while also keeping an eye out on the red traffic light ahead of us.

"Where to first, milady?" he questions like a Shakespearean coachman in charge of a horse-drawn carriage.

A smile grows on my face. "A bookstore."

His brow crumples slightly and his head rocks back and forth. "I'm still in the dark why you feel the need to buy books when you have the entire Cullen library at your disposal."

I have to stifle the urge to roll my eyes. Edward doesn't quite understand that I can't go plundering around their library whenever the mood to read strikes. I need to be at least somewhat self-sufficient.

"For one thing, I want some cookbooks. And your Cullen library is limited in that area. I only saw a few. All of them measured out ingredients the old-fashioned way - by pinches, handfuls, and teacups. I'm not confident enough in my cooking to risk using a cookbook like that."

"And your other reason would be?" he coaxes.

My smile morphs into a smirk. "Maybe I want to start a library of my own. The Swan Library has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"It does indeed," he grins.

We pass right on by a couple of shops who only have a small amount of books in stock, appearing to be more interested in selling coffee or knickknacks than literature. Eventually, we come upon a huge second-hand bookstore. The moment we set foot inside of the building, I am patting myself on the back for having the foresight of bringing all of my cash.

Books are absolutely everywhere. Thousands on the shelves. Stacks upon stacks resting on all available surfaces. The person manning the cash register has to physically move the pile of paperbacks she was sorting through in order to see us.

"Good morning," the middle-aged woman greets. "Can I help you with anything?"

My head shakes in the negative. "No thanks. We're just here to browse."

She smiles warmly. "All right," she replies. Then, ducking under the counter, she pops back up and holds out a sheet of paper for me to take. "Here's our promotion. Everything's at least half off today."

A sale? On books? If I didn't have Edward watching me, I would fall down to my knees and cry tears of joy.

I snatch the flyer with one hand while pulling Edward with the other. It doesn't take long for me to see that the bookstore is two floors of heaven on earth. The bottom floor is comprised of nonfiction, to which I quickly locate the section which houses their cookbooks. A few minutes of perusal, I find two that interest me. One of the books even has a whole section focused on how to prepare fish in new and creative ways - which I need desperately considering that Charlie seems determined to keep bringing them home.

With that out of the way, I'm off to concentrate on what I am really here for - the fiction section. I keep coming upon titles I had never heard of before but become instantly intrigued with. Sometimes I pull out a book that I have read before but can't bear to leave it behind. A few minutes into our exploration of the place, I conclude that I can't hold my intended purchases and shop at the same time, so Edward volunteers to be a human book shelf. Every time I find a hardcover or paperback that I fall in love with, I drop it into his arms. It isn't long before the stack of books is almost to his chin. Lucky for me, he's a good sport about it all and doesn't complain.

As I examine the shelves, he and I talk mostly about books. When I pick up _To Kill A Mockingbird_, I mention that the movie adaptation is one of the very few that is almost as good as the book it was based on. Edward never heard of it before. The same goes for _The Sun Also Rises_, _The Great Gatsby_, _Animal Farm_, and _Of Mice And Men_. Yet, he does know _Wuthering Heights_, _Great Expectations_, _The Jungle,_ and every single Mark Twain story I come across very well.

I find it interesting that he seems to be well acquainted with the books written in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but has barely read many of the ones written from the 1920s and on.

But I choose to keep my mouth shut for now.

After roughly an hour of shopping, I decide that I have enough reading material to last me a while. I count the books in Edward's arms and calculate the cost. There's fifteen. But since the store has that sale going on, I'll only be paying around $30 plus tax. If it weren't for the fact that I don't have anymore shelf space at home, I would probably buy a few extra.

"Are you going to get anything?" I question Edward.

He shifts the stack of books in his arms into a more comfortable position. "No thank you. If I'm ever in need of a good book to read I'll just borrow one from the Swan Library," he smirks.

"Really?" I say in a laugh. My eyebrow cocks up challengingly. I glance at my pile of books that he holds and pick one at random. "You would willingly read _Anna Karenina_?"

His nose crinkles up, like a young boy being served asparagus for his dinner. "Well, if that's all that you would let me borrow, then maybe I should retract my earlier statement."

"You've made me curious now. What kind of books do you like? You've never told me."

"Oh," he drawls out slowly. "I like a variety - it really depends on how well written they are. I've enjoyed biographies, mysteries, adventures. I've even liked your Jane Austen at times. And, of course, science fiction as long as it is not too far fetched."

An idea sparks inside of me.

"Hmm," I hum musingly. With mounting curiosity, I lead us to the Science Fiction section of the store and scan the shelves. Many of the authors and book names are unknown to me. I am not a big reader of this genre, although I do know a few of the more famous ones. My finger drags across the spines as I study each title. When I find an author I recognize, I glance up at Edward. "Do you like Jules Verne?" I wonder.

"Yes, but I've read all of his books years ago."

I hold my tongue and continue browsing the shelves. It doesn't take long for me to find another author that I have some knowledge of. "How about Conan Doyle?"

His broad shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "He's fine, I suppose, but isn't he mostly known for his Sherlock Holmes novels?"

My teeth pull my bottom lip into my mouth. Edward seems at least somewhat knowledgeable on these old school, classic sci-fi authors and stories. He certainly knows more than I do about them. But, when I stop in front of the next book, I have a feeling that our roles will reverse.

My index finger lands on _Jurassic Park_ and I peek up at him. "How about Michael Crichton?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"I've never read any of his books," he answers, shaking his head.

I stare at him silently for a short span of time. Now, I am no expert in the sci-fi genre or anything, but _I am_ familiar with Michael Crichton. He is arguably one of the most famous authors in modern times. Hell, even I have read a couple of his books before. Yet Edward has never read one book by the man? I guess it could be that he just has never had the desire to read one of Crichton's novels before, but something tells me that isn't the case.

My lips lift into a slight smile. Except for the few novels that are on our school's required reading list for the junior class, Edward is seriously lacking in familiarity with authors and books which were written within the last one hundred or so years. However, he knows the older ones just fine. This leads me to believe that he hasn't been roaming the earth for all of those intervening decades. I am currently leaning more towards the he-is-a-teen-who-came-here-in-a-time-machine theory. If we had more time today, I could keep asking Edward questions about books and probably figure out on my own what time he leaped here from.

I yank down two of Crichton's books, _Jurassic Park_ and _Sphere_, and gently place them into his arms. "Then I think I'll take two of his then," I decide. I'm curious to see if he will read a more modern novel if he has easy access to it.

I pay for my books and Edward carefully arranges them in the trunk of his Volvo so they won't scatter all over the place during our drive. He asks where I want to go next but I tell him that it's his turn to choose. Fifteen minutes later, we're parking at the curb near an independent music store. Edward leans across the center console, pops open the glovebox in front of me, and pulls out a slip of paper. In the brief flash of time that it crosses my line of sight, I see a long list written in his handwriting and spot a couple of musicians' names that I recognize.

He takes me by the hand and we dodge a few people passing by us on the sidewalk. Edward pushes open the door to the store and waits for me to enter first. Once inside, I halt in place and scan our surroundings. The place is unique and more down to earth than a big name music shop. Mementos from the past are everywhere, used as decorations and conversation pieces. Concert posters from the sixties and seventies mingle with ones from recent years. A rhinestone cape similar to Elvis Presley's famous one hangs on display. Old vinyl records line the walls like works of art. And all over the place - in every nook and cranny - lies the plastic cases of CDs to purchase. On shelves. On racks. And stacked in huge bins all over the floor.

But the eclectic decorations nor the wide variety of music the store offers isn't what surprises me. It's the employee this place has hired.

The most goth looking guy I have ever seen stands behind the counter. Pale skin that is accentuated with white makeup. Nose ring. Eyebrow piercing. Dark charcoal shirt and pants. Hair standing up into a tall mohawk - the strands as black as the night, except for the tips, which are a bright, blood red. His most unusual characteristic is his mouth. He wears metal fangs that makes him look like a juvenile vampire who needs to be in braces until his teeth straighten out.

But, most shocking of all, this guy is grinning at the boy walking through the door like it's his long lost friend.

"Edward!" yelps goth guy. "Long time, no see."

And Edward - the subdued, admittedly straight-laced boy that I have gotten to know - stares back just as cheerfully.

"Yes, it has been a while, hasn't it?" he replies. He pauses and looks at me for several beats before addressing goth guy again. "I've been rather busy lately, John. I couldn't get down until today."

John the goth guy glances at me. Then at Edward. The stud in his eyebrow cocks up into smirk. "Well, don't sweat it. I kept something behind the counter that I had a feeling you would be interested in," he announces.

Pulling out a set of keys, John unlocks a drawer and hands over a CD. Edward reads the album cover and crookedly smiles. "Your instinct, as always, is right on target. Anything else new of any interest?"

"Hold on and I'll show you," answers John, producing a sheet of paper from behind the counter. It turns out that the paper is a catalog of everything that has entered the store within the past month. He and Edward lean over it like teammates mapping out a football play to ensure their victory. Whenever Edward sees something that piques his interest, he jots it down on the paper he dug out from his glovebox and his list grows longer.

With his paper filled, he steps away from the counter while John disappears into the back of the store. I tag along behind Edward as he drifts purposely up and down the aisles. Every so often, he checks the slip of paper in his fingers and adds a CD to the growing stack in his arms. Around four minutes into his shopping spree, his arms are so full that the discs are threatening to tumble down like a tower of Jenga blocks.

Two minutes later, John re-emerges from the back with a medium sized cardboard box. He passes it to Edward, who happily takes the box and dumps his heavy burden inside of it. At first, I assume that this means that he is done shopping. But I am wrong. He is just getting started, apparently.

Placing the box on the floor, Edward uses both of his two hands to browse through the racks. As he travels from bin to bin and shelf to shelf, he transports his cardboard box by shuffling it along with his feet. Almost as if he believes that he is on an episode of Supermarket Sweep, the pile of CDs to be bought rapidly grows. Sometimes he consults his list and tracks down what he wants. Other times, he comes across an album by chance and it gets thrown into his box, too.

Considering his limited experience with books which have been published within the last few decades, I am somewhat astonished by his music choices. It's all over the place. I watch him drop all kinds of CDs into his box. In goes an old Prince album from the mid 1980s. A few seconds later, he adds a newly released Lifehouse disc. Next is Louis Armstrong, Bing Crosby, Stevie Wonder, and the greatest hits of some guy named Maurice Chevalier who wore an old straw fedora hat and snazzy suit on his black and white album cover. When he tosses the ultra heavy metal band Megadeth into his box, I stare open-mouthed. Is this really the same boy who plays Beethoven on the piano?

We've been inside of the store for around fifteen minutes when I begin counting the discs he intends to purchase. I conclude that there are around forty-seven, but there may be a few more hiding in that box that I don't see. Although each CD is priced differently, most appear to hover around the twenty dollar mark. In my head, I run a quick calculation. If each album costs about twenty bucks and there are roughly forty-seven to buy, that means...

I suck in a breath and my jaw drops further. $940? Edward is planning to shuck out almost a _thousand dollars_?! What kind of an allowance do the Cullens give him every month?

"What's wrong?" his honeyed voice questions.

I hold my head aloft and find him watching me instead of concentrating on his list.

My face screws up, not knowing how to voice my observations without insulting his wealthy lifestyle or exposing my wild theories on his origins. But my eyes keep drifting back down to the box, taunting me to ask him at least one question.

"It's nothing really. I'm just... Are you really going to buy all of that?" I press him, knitting my brows into one continuous line.

"Yes," he replies with a dip of his head.

I take another peek at what he plans to get today. On the very top lies a baby-faced Barry Manilow from the late 1970s. Next to that is Snoop Dogg, the rapper. Is he really going to play the disco-era _Copacabana_ song and then pop in Snoop's _Drop It Like It's Hot_?

"And you are going to listen to all of them?" I inquire, monitoring his face.

"Yes. At least once. And if they are any good, multiple times."

Initially, this puzzles me more. If he had explained that he was simply buying music for his entire family, I could understand that. But, no, this is all for himself. His devotion to music is much stronger than I could have ever guessed. It will take days - maybe even weeks - to get through all those albums. He intends to listen to every single song in that box - even the terrible ones that make your ears bleed. Who does that?

The CDs are a blend of genres, encompassing several decades worth of time. A quarter of them are old albums whose artists I have never heard of before. Another quarter of the discs are from new bands and solo singers that I had no idea even existed. If I am unfamiliar with these music groups and have lived my entire life in this era, I doubt Edward would know them any better.

Out of nowhere, something inside of my brain clicks into place.

Who would buy such a wide variety of albums? The guy who is obsessed with music and missed out on one hundred years worth of it.

He's trying to catch back up.

Edward reminds me of what a researcher would do if he were to discover a new civilization. The researcher would immerse himself into their culture, studying their strange ways and unique music.

My slight smile swells into a huge grin. Solving a sliver of a mystery gives me plenty of satisfaction.

"What now?" asks Edward, looking at me sideways.

Still broadly grinning, I give him an honest answer. "Nothing. You never stop surprising me."

His dark copper brow lifts into a point. "And do I want to know what you mean by that exactly?"

My arms swing behind my back and I take a step closer. My teeth gnaw at my lips, attempting to lessen my smile but a muffled laugh still escapes. "Stop worrying," I tell him as I gaze into his eyes. "Maybe I like that aspect about you."

He gives an incredulous face but gets back to his shopping regardless, not pressing me any further. A few minutes later, he's toting the cardboard box to the cash register and whips out a credit card. John the goth guy's black-outlined eyes shine like a child's on Christmas morning as he swipes the card and hands Edward the long receipt. Now I see why John appears to love him so much. Edward's music addiction probably comprises half of his salary.

It's practically lunchtime when we step back outside. We drive around in search of a decent place to eat, eventually coming upon a cute little restaurant which boasts seats inside and outside. Since the weather is flawless today, we choose to stay outside. We seat ourselves at a table nearby a display of flowers, their scent and cheerful colors making it feel like it is officially spring.

We order and I hungrily attack my Caesar salad. I'm halfway through it when I catch a glimpse of Edward's plate. His sandwich lays largely untouched, only a couple of bites are missing. I look up from his food and am slightly surprised to find him staring in my direction.

"Why aren't you eating?" I say once I swallow down a chunk of crouton.

His mouth perks up into a small, teasing smirk. "I'm trying. But it's your fault really. How can you possibly expect me to eat when you're sitting there looking so lovely today? You are far too distracting."

I don't buy it. I'm wearing an ordinary blouse that he has seen several times before and the sun's glare is forcing me to squint a little in order to see properly. I probably look like Popeye the sailor man.

My forehead raises in mock surprise to go along with his claim. "Oh? Am I? Since I'm distracting you, maybe I should go sit somewhere else so you can eat. Maybe that guy over there wouldn't mind if I sat at his table for a little while." My head tips in the direction of a man sitting a few tables away. The guy is messily scarfing down a plate of nachos, the cheese caking a little around his mouth.

Edward takes one look at the stranger and his face darkens into a scowl. He sweeps up my hand and caresses it, as though he truly believes that I would ditch him and this is his attempt to change my mind.

My mouth stretches into a toothy grin. I really shouldn't mess with him like this, but his reaction is just too funny.

When he tears his glare away from the guy, his eyes stray back to me. As he takes in my smiling expression, his scowl morphs into a pronounced pout. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Miss Swan," he breathes out tiredly.

A few giggles bubble up from my throat. I guess he has rightfully concluded that I was only joking. It's nice turning the tables on him like this. He's usually the one teasing me.

While I'm trying to suppress my laughter, something changes in him. His formerly sulking mouth parts open somewhat as his gaze becomes sharp and penetrating. And, as though he pressed a button hidden within me, my smile vanishes into thin air and my breathing accelerates. As he raises my hand to his mouth, downtown Seattle fades into oblivion. All I can see are the magnetic eyes that have silenced me. And all I can feel are his lips while they brush across my skin.

How does he make a seemingly innocent kiss on a hand seem like so much more?

His attention momentarily flicks to the side, catching sight of the wide variety of flowering plants that divide the eating area from the sidewalk. A few beats afterwards, his eyes return. But the heat shooting out from them is gone.

"Bella," he whispers into my skin. At a slow pace, he lowers my hand back down to the table. "There is something I very much want to tell you. It's something that I have kept secret from everyone except for my family. But, I think you should know, too. I have been unsure of how I should tell you, but I think I now know what I need to do."

He abruptly stops speaking. In turn, my chest clenches. _A secret_. A secret he wants to share with me. Either he will confess what I have suspected all week, or his secret is something else entirely - like he is a guitarist for a shock rock cover band and dresses up in full Kiss costume and makeup every weekend. That's possible. After all, he does have a few of their CDs in his car.

The tip of Edward's tongue swipes across his lip and he shifts in his chair, bringing me out of my reverie. "Do you trust me?" he asks, still holding on to my hand.

"Yes," I nod somberly.

A tiny smile creeps back onto his face. "You don't know how wonderful it is to hear you say that," he utters. He inhales and slowly releases his breath, causing his cheeks to puff out a little. His gaze locks firmly back on me. "There's a very special place that I know of. No one else knows about it. I want to take you there tomorrow if it's all right with you."

I slightly lean my body over the table that separates us and stare deeply into his eyes. "That sounds nice," I reply.

Some of the strain in his eyes slackens and we try to resume our earlier playfulness as we finish our meal.

The remainder of our day is mainly spent exploring the area and sightseeing. Edward asks if I want to shop anymore and I answer with a firm "no". It would be smart of me to go ahead and buy a couple of lighter sweaters and blouses for the warmer weather, but what would he do while I try them on? Wait outside of the dressing room and be bored to death? Nope. I can't do that to him. Mom did that so often to me during my childhood that I know exactly how painful of an experience that can be.

During the drive home, I question him on where he plans to take us the next day. All he does is smile and shake his head, informing me that I'll have to wait and see. Though, when he drops me off at my house at dusk, he gives me a hint of sorts when he recommends dressing comfortably and wearing sensible shoes - leading me to believe that wherever we are going will be outside.

Since Charlie's police cruiser sits in the driveway, we keep our goodbye kiss PG rated. When he backs away, he asks if it is OK if he's here early again to pick me up. I narrow my eyes and pinch my mouth into a fine line. I thought this boy knew me better than to have to ask such an obvious question. I would wake up at four o'clock in the morning if it meant I could see him that much sooner.

**00000000000000000000**

The next day, I wake up a little earlier than I had the day before so I won't need to rush. Charlie lightly taps my bedroom door and reminds me that he's going fishing - just like yesterday. I inform him that my day will be spent with Edward again. He doesn't look surprised, just like I am not shocked that he can willingly stare at a cork in the water for an entire Sunday with just the hope of catching something.

I dress myself in jeans, a blue flannel shirt, and waterproof boots. And after peeking out of a window, I yank my rain jacket off the coat rack, too. Unfortunately, today isn't as pretty as it was yesterday. The sun has disappeared behind a curtain of dreary clouds. But my outlook on this dismal day brightens considerably once a shiny silver car pulls up to the curb.

My eyes do a thorough examination of Edward as I slip into the Volvo. He chose to put on a plain white t-shirt under a gray hoodie. Plus, jeans that fit him just right that I could spend all day admiring.

Thank you, Levi Strauss. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your generous contribution to humankind.

I try to stop ogling at him and focus on the question that plagued me all night long. "So... Are you going to tell me where we're going now, or is it still too hush hush?"

He breaks into a smile as he puts the car into drive. "I'll tell you now. There's a spot out near the national park that I go to sometimes. It's quiet and secluded. I want you to see it."

"The national park?" I echo. My forehead creases downwards. Then my eyes flap open wide. "Does that mean we'll need to hike through the woods?" I croak out.

Of all the places I speculated that he would want to take me, a excursion into the forest never entered my mind. I assumed he was driving us to some quaint picnic area with tables and a babbling brook nearby. If I had known that we were heading into the wilderness, I would have spent more time preparing myself. Like, strapping pillows to my kneecaps. And probably my butt too. Falling is much worse when it occurs outdoors. Your chances of landing on something which could hurt you greatly increases. I wonder if the Olympic peninsula has porcupines...

Edward speaks and draws me back to reality. "Please don't worry. I would never let anything bad happen to you," he promises. He focuses back on driving, but I notice that his fingers are bearing down hard around the steering wheel.

A quarter of a mile passes before he has anything to add. "Despite what others in Forks may say, I know my way around the wilderness more than I let on. I will not get us lost." He pauses, and his face turns away from the road to look me square in the eye. "I swear to you," he ends solemnly.

I blink back at him several times, bewildered why he would say such a thing. I didn't say anything about us getting lost. All I said was-

Then it hits me.

He thinks that I am afraid of going into the forest with him since he almost died out there. But nothing could be further from the truth.

My head starts shaking before I even speak. "You don't understand. I'm not afraid of getting lost or anything, Edward," I confess. My shoulders go limp at what I have to admit out loud. "I'm worried about falling every five seconds," I mutter, temporarily flicking my eyes away from his.

The tension in his face relaxes. "You should know that I would never let you fall," he replies, dragging his hand through his hair. "I'll hold on to you."

My eyes roll as I bark out one unamused laugh. "Then be prepared to do it for the entire hike. You know my track record when it comes to walking in the great outdoors."

"Hold you for the entire time? And you say it as if that were a bad thing," he retorts playfully.

Thirty or so minutes later, he pulls off the road and into a dirt parking lot. A sign proclaiming that this is the beginning of a trail stands nearby, but otherwise we are in the middle of nowhere. Edward's car is the only one here.

He throws open the trunk of the Volvo and out comes a black backpack with pockets, straps, and hooks dangling all over it. I watch as he carefully folds both of our rain jackets into a sushi roll and then straps them to the backpack. Following a check to make certain that he locked up the car, he heaves the backpack over his shoulders and adjusts the straps to fit his frame.

With everything ready, we looks over at me and motions with his head to follow him. And that's what I do - until I become aware that he is heading into the forest on the opposite side of where the path begins.

I freeze in my tracks. What is he doing? Why aren't we walking towards the trail head? I had assumed that I would at least have a decently maintained hiking path to work with.

My eyes dart to the wooded area and take a wary survey. The massive trees with their thick canopies filter out much of the daylight before it even has a chance to hit the ground. And speaking of the ground, it is covered in debris. Crunchy, damp leaves to slide around on. Huge, gnarled roots to trip over. Fallen twigs, branches, and long limbs that have yet to decay. It looks like someone set up an obstacle course in there.

Several feet up ahead, I vaguely notice Edward stop and swivel around. He studies my face for a short moment. "The place I want to show you is off the trail. We need to go this way," he explains, pointing into the forest gloom.

My head nods in acceptance but my insides are recoiling. I haven't even stepped off the dirt parking area yet and I am already shuddering at what calamities may await me in that jungle of horrors.

The instant my boots touch the forest floor, I sense that this hike will be rough. My foot skids across the dank leaf litter - just as I had anticipated would happen. But before my behind can make contact with the ground, Edward's arm appears and enwraps my waist. Once I am stable again, we continue walking but his arm stays around my middle.

We travel a while in companionable silence. I direct most of my thoughts on staying upright since I do not want to make this any harder on him than this is already. But once we have walked for at least half of an hour, I start to become antsy.

"Um... Are we getting close to the place you wanted to show me?" I ask.

"No. Not yet."

"Oh," I utter in disappointment. I peek up at his face. "So...how much longer do you think it will be?"

He thinks it over, slightly twisting his mouth. "Since we're walking a little slower than what I usually travel, it makes it difficult to say. Although, if I had to guess, I would think it will be another two hours."

"_Two hours_?" I repeat, my lungs entering into low hyperventilation mode.

"It may be a little less," he answers in a soothing tone. "From the parking area to where we're going is close to a five mile walk. We've gone at least a mile so far."

My next few footsteps are weak and wobbly - even more than normal. Four more miles of hiking in an unmarked, wooded area? Is Edward testing my endurance levels or something?

I would love to say that the next two hours flew by, but that would be a lie. An accident-prone person like me shouldn't be in a place like this. It's riddled with danger. So, when he points to an area just ahead of us and announces "there it is", I am so relieved that I could almost cry.

The closer we approach, the more my eyes take in. It dawns on me that the trees in that section are not as dark and foreboding as the forest we spent the last two and a half hours hiking through. It's airier. Brighter.

I pull away from Edward's grasp and fight my way through a jumble of hanging vines and bushy shrubs. After shoving a branch from my face, I take another step and enter the area that he had indicated. Even though the sun is not out, the daylight is almost blinding after being subjected to the dim forest for such a long time. My eyes immediately clamp together until they can readjust. Little by little, I pry them apart and look around me. Then I audibly gasp.

I am in a clearing in the middle of the woods. _A_ _meadow_. The grass here is a thick, lush green. Small birds peck the ground and fly overhead, filling the air with their chirping songs. A rainbow of wildflowers of scarlet, orange, violet, and nearly every other shade that you can conjure up are scattered all around. I bend over and pick one at random. It's a deep blue, with delicate petals and long, pollen-filled stamens. I raise the flower to my nose and inhale it's scent. It's faintly sweet - not overpowering at all.

The flower lowers by my side and I go back to appreciating the scenery. This place is more than just beautiful. So much so, that it has to be an illusion. It's too perfect - like it was purposely placed here by a film company or TV commercial crew. I half expect to see a woman frolicking around the meadow while a voiceover explains how much fresher she feels now that she uses the company's feminine hygiene product.

A laugh ripples out from my mouth at that thought.

And to think, this is where Edward brought me - a place too good to be real, yet exists nevertheless. Just like him.

I look to both my right and left, expecting to find him by my side like he usually stations himself. But he isn't here. My head whips around to check behind me, followed by the rest of my body a heartbeat later.

I find him standing thirty feet away in the shadows of the gloomy forest, his face expressionless. But his eyes are a different story. They are anguished, the skin around them scrunched together as he watches me enjoying myself. I can sense the worry coming off him in waves.

My grin weakens into a small smile. I stretch out my hand, coaxing him silently to join me. Gradually, he moves out from the shadows, keeping his gaze on me the whole time. When he reaches where I am, he tugs me until I am in his arms. I lay on his chest and close my eyes. His hand moves into my hair, rubbing my scalp as his face rests on the top of my head. We don't talk. We don't have to. Something bothers him. I know that. He needs me to comfort him. So, that is what I do.

We stay this way for a short while until he takes a step backwards and announces in a gentle voice that I should rest. With our interlaced fingers tethering us together, he leads us over to a spot on the other side of the meadow. He shoves off his backpack and pulls out a soft blanket, which he carefully spreads upon the grass. My eyebrows lift up a bit when he yanks out food from the inside of the backpack. So we are having a picnic after all.

I drop to my knees and crawl until I find a comfortable spot on the blanket to sit. Meanwhile, Edward yanks off his hoodie, leaving himself in his simple t-shirt. He then hands me my lunch which consists of a canteen of water, an apple, and a sandwich that I guess Esme made since it has a toothpick impaling a green olive on top. I can't picture Edward trying to fancy up a plain ham and cheese sandwich.

I finish my lunch and admire the scenery while he continues to eat. I am observing a honeybee land on a yellow daffodil when I am interrupted.

"Bella?" Edward says aloud.

His right hand passes through his hair and a clump of it flattens against his bronze head for approximately three seconds. Then it pops right back up, the same as before.

Upon seeing that I am listening, he coughs into his hand and goes on speaking. "As you know, I brought you here today for more than just sightseeing. There's something that I need to tell you - about me - that may be hard for you to understand. But, I think that you should know all the same."

Squirming on the blanket, he inhales a large gulp of air, releasing it slowly as he focuses on me. "I'm not like most people, Bella," he begins. "I'm...different."

His shoulders sag a couple of inches and he laughs once humorlessly. "Dear god. That makes me sound conceited, doesn't it?" he mutters, almost like he is speaking to himself. A weary sigh blows out from his lips and he tries to redirect his attention back to me. "Let me try this again... Bella, I'm not quite what I've made myself out to be. People today like to call me old-fashioned. Like Emmett tells me nearly everyday."

We exchange a smile. "And I am," he continues. "I might wear what is considered the latest in fashion, like these ridiculously uncomfortable pair of jeans Alice badgered me to put on this morning. But this isn't what I was accustomed to wearing prior to last summer. Before then, I wore tweed suits. And driving caps."

The tiny smile slips off his face and a frown rears its ugly head. "I'm not making much sense, am I?" he mumbles softly.

Maintaining eye contact, my hand comes to rest on top of his. "It's all right. Go on," I encourage.

He takes a moment to study our hands on the blanket before he says anything. Another drawn out sigh comes out. "I suppose I should try to explain this another way..." he trails off ruminatively. Several seconds tick by. Then his eyes meet my face once again. "Can you recall the day when I told you that I didn't belong here?"

I force myself to stop focusing on the matter at hand and attempt to think back to what he is referring to. Soon, the day in question resurfaces. We were at his house. I sat on his piano bench, trying to understand how someone as talented as Edward could keep what he can do hidden from the world at large.

"Yes. It was the day that you brought me to your house to borrow those books," I reply.

An energy that was not there before materializes in his eyes, making them almost glow. "That's right. And you told me that maybe I was meant to come here. That it was destiny."

I quietly agree with him.

His mouth does a small, half-smile. "Well, you were right. Everything started coming together for me after you told me that." He stops to quickly moisten his bottom lip, his eyes and face reverting back to seriousness. "Bella. I'm not really from here. I was...brought to this place - against my will. I spent months trying to get back home, but I couldn't-"

His words come to a sudden halt, his brows crashing together for a short time. One of my teeth nearly bite a hole into my lip. I don't like the sound of that. He tried to go back home? To Chicago? To... whenever he originally lived there? If he had succeeded, we would have never met...

When the dissatisfied expression on his face passes, he increases his stare. "My driver's license might say I was born in 1987, but I wasn't. I'm not from this time... I'm from-"

My hand that rests on his knuckles trembles, too caught up in the drawn-out excitement to remain still. At the same moment, Edward's eyes dart from my hand to my face. Lines form in between his eyebrows. He removes his hand out from under mine and goes to scrape his palm down his face, from his forehead down to his eyes. The hand lingers in this position for longer than I anticipate - like he plans to stay this way for the reminder of his life.

I had a gut feeling that this would be hard for him to talk about. But this is worse than I had imagined.

I crawl over the blanket to him. One of my hands captures him by his wrist and I tug the fingers from his face. Now that he has nothing to block himself from my view, he looks me in the eye again.

"It will be OK, Edward," I promise him, though the faint frown on his face says that he does not believe me.

I take notice that his hair is more wild and out of control than usual. One of the times when he compulsively ran his hand from the front to the back of his scalp has caused clumps of it to stick up. I release his wrist and smooth down the glossy strands poking out from the side of his head, my fingers brushing behind his ear. Edward's eyelids lower slightly, as though I am putting him to sleep.

"I believe you," I murmur.

He sucks in a gulp of air, but his breathing soon evens out. The strained look around his eyes slowly vanishes and his lowered eyelids gently shut. With me playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, he visibly relaxes under my touch.

I remain on my knees and keep on comforting him. He needs it. But as minutes go by, he doesn't say anything else. Sure, he admitted one thing - that he wasn't born in 1987 like everyone assumes - but I already guessed that myself. I kind of need him to fill me in on the details so I can get a decent night's sleep again.

"I-I already know," I stammer, hoping he won't be too upset at finding out that I snooped around behind his back.

His eyelids unlatch and he remains motionless for a long moment. "What?"

"I already know," I repeat in a louder voice.

Edward's mouth pinches together and his head starts to rock back and forth. "That's impossible. You couldn't possibly-"

"You were born around 1901," I interject, sitting up straighter. His head stops shaking and his eyes bulge, but I press on without stopping. "Your father was born in Iowa in about 1872 and your mother was born around 1878. Your cook's name was Martha Fairman and she was born in Massachusetts sometime in 1858."

Edward's mouth hangs open an inch. He says nothing and does not move, barely breathing. It's almost like he has gone into hibernation, except his eyes are wide open and staring at me in complete shock.

"Right?" I prod, my eyebrows hovering near my hairline.

The Adam's apple in his neck bobs as he roughly swallows. As though re-emerging from a trance, his eyelashes flutter a few times.

"Bella," he gasps as though in a loss for words.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I say, deepening my stare.

He drinks in a calming breath and his forehead dips down into a baffled expression. "I don't understand. How do you know...?"

Taking that as confirmation that I am right, I get off of my knees and sit in a more comfortable position. I explain how when I googled my name and Charlie's, I got plenty of search results. But when I looked up his and his parents' names, I got basically nothing.

I tilt my head to the side and allow my eyes to travel over him. He may dress in modern clothes but it doesn't hide the person who lies underneath them.

"I always knew that you weren't like the other boys at school," I go on. "I've never met anyone like you. You're smart. Quick witted. Unfailingly kind to everyone - even when you hate them.

"I noticed right away that you don't talk like most boys. Your choice of words and phrasing - it's not often that you hear a teenage boy say mesmerizing without there being a vocabulary quiz involved somehow. Then there is the way that you behave. You want to open doors for me, kiss my hand when we say goodnight. Pay for everything. At first I just shrugged that off as being the way you were brought up."

My mouth briefly purses out. Come to think of it, that last statement still holds true, I guess. Boys born in 1901 probably had more social rules to follow than their modern equivalents.

"Then last Saturday night when I was attacked by that...guy, you showed up out of nowhere and I was so relieved to see you. I had thought that I would never see you again. That alone almost killed me. As soon as I saw your face, I knew that everything would be all right. _We_ would be all right.

"But then you had to fight the guy... I was terrified that you would hurt yourself. I was about to tell you to stop - that we could just leave and call the police. But you did something that made me speechless."

My eyelids shut, immerging me back to the events of that night a little over a week ago. I picture Edward moving into the strange, muted lighting of the alley - his skin, hair, and clothes appearing in shades of sepia cream and brown.

My hands figet in my lap, not knowing how this next part will sound to his ears. After all, it's not every day that someone claims that their boyfriend looked like they just stepped out of an antique photograph.

I reopen my eyes and meet his gaze again. "Do you remember all those old pictures we saw at that museum that day?" I ask. Without waiting for a response, I continue. "Well, I guess that made a bigger impression on me than I realized because when you were preparing to fight that guy, you did something strange. The position you were in - it's not something that most boxers do anymore."

I lean closer and take his hand. "One time, Charlie and I watched a documentary about John L. Sullivan, that boxer from the late nineteenth century. Boxers like him used that stance. And when I saw you that night, in the half light, you reminded me of those pictures of him from that film. It stunned me. I couldn't understand why I would connect that to you.

"I spent the rest of that night thinking over everything I knew about you. And I realized on the drive home that you never told me very much about your family. I knew the basics, of course... That your family had all died. That your grandfather's name was Obadiah." My face screws up at the memory. "Looking back, that should have been a clue right there," I add dryly. I shake my head at myself and press on. "So, I began asking you all those questions that night. And you answered them easily. I knew that you were telling me the truth. I could tell."

I take a break from my explanation and study him. He hasn't budged an inch since I began talking. "Have you ever heard of genealogy?" I question him.

He doesn't reply at first. He just sits there like he is too traumatized to make sense of anything I have told him. However, a few seconds in, his head slowly moves up and down.

I smile a little, thankful that he is still coherent enough to understand what I asked. So, I tell him how Mom was once obsessed with looking up her ancestors and had some knowledge on the subject. I explain how since I could not find any information on him or his parents on Google, I decided to look up his family on a genealogy website. And I sheepishly admit that when he phoned my house last Sunday, one of the reasons that I had been waiting for Mom to call me back was so I could ask for her advice on how to "help a friend with a family history project".

"I began searching as soon as I got off the phone with her," I confess. "All I did was type in your name and Chicago as being your place of residence, Edward. It was one of the first hits. The 1910 United States census.

"When I first saw it, I thought that maybe it was going to be one of your ancestors - a great grandfather or something like that. But as soon as I saw it with my own eyes, I knew it had to be you. It listed 'Edward Masen Sr.' as a lawyer. It showed you, your mother, and Martha all living together."

With my hand firmly clasping his, I wait to see what he will say or do. It doesn't take long before he reacts. Blinking his eyes rapidly several times in succession, his head begins to subtly shake.

"Are you telling me that you've known since last Sunday afternoon?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"Yes."

Edward's thumb and forefinger squeeze the bridge of his nose, as if he is brooding over everything I told him.

His eyes suddenly fly open and his fingers fall to his lap. The bronze eyebrows on his face crash together. "I don't believe this. Why didn't you say something?" he grumbles.

I jerk my hand off of his and stare back with hardening eyes. "What if I was wrong, Edward? What if what I found was just one gigantic coincidence? There could have been a rational explanation for everything. I didn't want you to think I was crazy or anything," I fire back.

The irritation around his eyes lessens. His jaw unclenches. At first glance, I am relieved that he accepted my explanation so quickly. But his wooden expression has me thinking twice.

"You were afraid of sounding insane?" he questions with absolutely no emotion.

My head moves up and down.

Cackling an odd laugh, Edward's face tilts upwards. "_You_ were afraid of sounding insane?" he emphasizes up to the gray clouds.

I chew the inside of my cheek, anxiously keeping an eye on him. It occurs to me that I am five miles away from the main road - sitting in a meadow in the middle of the darkest forest known to mankind - with a boy who I may have just pushed off the cliff of sanity.

Unsure of what to do, I give him another silent head nod.

By degrees, his stiff posture loosens and his upper body slants towards me. A small, boyish smile transforms his face from disturbed to euphoric.

"Bella... Do you have any idea how terrified I was today?" he asks with increasing excitement. "How I believed that the moment I told you that I wasn't from this century, that you would assume that I was mentally unstable and refuse to listen to me? And here I find that you knew all week!"

Edward's hand reappears to caress my face, the ends of his fingers splaying into my hair. He has done this many times since he appeared out of the blue in my kitchen the other day. Whenever his skin makes contact, all of my worries evaporate. I instinctively recline against his palm, closing my eyes and absorbing his warmth.

"Do you realize how amazing you are?" he utters, his tone raspy and low.

My eyelids pop back open and I dubiously squint up at him. He is from another time period, plays the piano like a prodigy, and fights like a heavyweight champion. And he has the gall to claim that _I'm_ amazing? This boy really is crazy. Maybe it's a side effect from time travel.

"I think you have that backwards. It's you who are the amazing one," I counter seriously.

His mouth spreads into a lopsided grin, his eyes shining like freshly lit candles. While I am busy taking note of how his irises match the grass of the meadow, he pounces like a cat and drags me until I am sitting on his lap. I'm a little dizzy from the sudden movement, but mostly it's from having him wrapped around me so snugly that has my head spinning. His arm has ensnared my waist. The tip of his nose ghosts the side of my neck, bringing up hundreds of goosebumps in the best possible way. I think this is my favorite place in the world to be.

"I have a lot to tell you," he says softly at my ear.

"And I want to hear it all," I reply without hesitation.

He hugs me tighter for a few moments longer. Then, resting his chin on my shoulder, he begins his story.

"You were correct on all counts, Bella. I lived the first seventeen years of my life in a different time... A different _world _is perhaps a better way to put it. We had no computers, cellphones, commercial aircraft, television sets, Velcro, plastic, or about a thousand other things that everyone now takes for granted. Like most children of that era, I was not born in a hospital. I was delivered in my parents' bedroom. My father was a successful attorney who provided us with a fine house in the best neighborhood in Chicago. My mother enjoyed hosting tea parties during the day and often helped throw charity fundraisers during the weekends. Our housekeeper had been with us for decades and was the person who ensured the household ran properly.

"And I was the golden child - the one expected to walk down the path my father had paved for me. As I told you before, it was his wish for me to be an attorney one day - even though I personally had no love for the profession. However, during that time and in our particular social strata, your father's word and opinion was law. The plan was for me to graduate high school, attend a university, attain a law degree, and eventually join Father's firm. I suppose I could have dug in my heels and told my parents that I would rather do something else, but I never did. They had provided me a privileged life. They arranged for me to attend a respectable but bland school, gave me fine clothing to wear, served decent meals every day. I was never in want of anything. They loved me. And I loved them. All they asked for in return was for me to carry on Father's legacy. So, I never said a word to indicate that I did not look forward to that fate.

"But Father's desire to mold my future did not stop me from daydreaming. Looking back, I see that I was perhaps a bit of a rebel. If I was to spend my adult life bickering in a courtroom, I thought that I should spend my youth in pursuit of adventure." Edward remains quiet for a couple of moments. Then, I vaguely hear him swallow. "I assume you have heard of the Great War?"

"The _Great_ War?" I repeat, puzzled by the contradictory term.

"You would likely know it by it's alternate name. World War One?"

Yeah. I have definitely heard of _that_.

I pivot enough where I can see his profile. With his head slightly tilted on my shoulder, his gaze is unfocused as he stares at a spot across the clearing. "Since Father had my future taken care of, I got it into my head that enlisting and being sent off to fight in some muddy trench overseas would make up for whatever mundane existence I would be subjected to one day." The ends of his mouth fall into a frown. "I bought into the war propaganda without questioning its accuracy. I sincerely believed that the war was a noble cause and needed more men to assist in fighting for freedom. Father did not object. He probably would have joined the war effort himself if he had been younger.

"Mother was of the opposite opinion. She _hated_ the idea of me leaving Chicago to join a conflict on some faraway continent. There was hardly a day that went by when she didn't openly hint that enlisting would be a grave mistake. But I was obstinate. And naïve. I refused to believe that she was right. My imbecilic fantasies would not allow me to consider that I was anything less than invincible..." he trails off.

My finger moves to lightly touch the hair and skin of his forearm, comforting myself in a way. I may not have met Edward's mother but I think I know exactly how she felt all those years ago. To watch her first and only child wish to be sent off to battle in a war that had already killed hundreds of thousands? It must have been terrifying. The only bright side is that it appears that Edward has opened his eyes to the negatives of the conflict.

"When I watched some of my fellow classmates drop out of school and lie about their age in order to join the army, I was envious," he goes on. "I very much wished to do the same. Nevertheless, I swore to Mother that I would at least graduate high school before enlisting. So that is what I had planned to do. Graduate. Enlist. Somehow make it through the war unscathed, earning a soldier's glory in the process. And then I would come back home to Chicago and become what my parents had predestined for me to be." The frown on his face slackens somewhat, and his voice becomes faint. "Of course, none of that came to fruition. The war ended long before I was set to graduate. And all of our lives were irrevocably changed before that."

Edward twists at the waist, dragging his backpack to his side. Unzipping a large pocket, he extracts more than a dozen photographs and places them into my hands.

The first one I see has me sucking in a gasp of air. The sepia photo has three people posing in front of the camera. A _family_ of three. The tall, lanky boy standing behind his parents wears no smile as he stares into the camera's lens. It's Edward. But then again, it's not. He doesn't wear a casual shirt and jeans like he wears today. Instead he has on a dark suit and bow tie, the exact colors impossible to deduce since this is a black and white photograph. And the boy in the picture has his hair flattened down to his scalp, like a vat of oil had been dumped on his head. My eyes quickly dart up to compare Edward's current hairstyle with his past look.

He chuckles with squinting eyes. "That was pomade in my hair. And before you ask - no - it was not something I used very often. To be honest, it was a god awful product. It smelled to high heaven and took days to wash out. Plus, it only took my hair a short time before it broke free from the stuff and did what it wanted anyway. The only reason I wore it that day was for the family photo. It was at Mother's insistence. She wanted one photo of me where my hair wasn't shooting up in all directions. Normally, I just stuffed my head under a hat and hid it from view."

I return to studying the next figure in the picture. The man sitting in front has the same nose, chin, and forehead as Edward. Basically, this man looks like an older version of the boy who holds me in his lap. I smile a little when I notice that Edward's father's hair had been plastered down to his scalp. Mrs. Mason must have insisted that her husband put that pomade stuff on his head, too.

The woman sitting regally in a chair next to Edward's father has her hair artfully wound on top of her head. Her dress is white, ruffled up to her neck, and drapes all the way down to her shoes. Her facial features are dainty and delicate, like a porcelain doll's.

"She was so beautiful," I whisper, barely moving my lips.

"She was," Edward replies, looking down at the photo with a wan smile.

I carefully shuffle to the next picture. It is of a grand, old-fashioned house with a pointed roof, tall windows, and detailed woodwork on its railings and columns. A rounded cupola stands on top of the house, reminiscent of a castle tower.

"This was our home," he announces. He points to an area on the side of the photo. "That's where we usually parked our car, but Father was away using it on this particular day. It seemed so stylish and modern to me back then. I loved driving it. On a good day with no wind or rain, I could get it to hit about 30 miles per hour. Though, I am certain that it would look little better than a carriage to your eyes," he adds with a smirk.

Seeing Edward in antique photographs or wearing fancy suits that have been out of style for decades isn't too difficult for me to accept. But picturing him at one point of his life driving a car less than 30 mph and actually enjoying it is something that I find to be unbelievable. Just yesterday when we drove to and from Seattle, his foot was permanently glued to the Volvo's accelerator and he griped whenever he had to go below 60 mph.

I flip to the third picture in the stack. There are ten boys standing on a field while a group of empty bleachers sits behind them. Each boy wears the same uniform as the rest - white shirt similar to a tank top and white shorts which end around three inches above the knee. At first glance, I am confused by what I see. Why did Edward get me to look at this? But, as soon as I catch sight of the messy-haired boy on the back row, I understand why.

"I was on the track team for a while," he says breezily. "This was taken near the beginning of September 1918 - just a couple of weeks before I arrived here in Forks."

My face drops back down to the picture and I examine it more thoroughly. Where most of his teammates stare at the camera with hunched shoulders, Edward's chin is held high and his arms are crossed at his chest - his biceps flexed slightly. And somehow his legs make the out-dated shorts seem less awkward than they appear on his teammates.

My cheeks heat up and I have to refrain from fanning myself. It is a huge relief that Edward is in a position behind me and can't see my reddened face. God, I'm pathetic. I'm probably the first person in more than sixty years that has gotten hot and bothered by an ancient track uniform. Heck, for all I know, Edward and his band of teammates may have been the first people to ever wear shorts.

I place that photo out of my sight before I accidentally drool on it and move on to the next one. It's a shot of Edward's father working at a large wooden desk. He explains that his father was at his firm in downtown Chicago. Next is Edward's mother - wearing an elegant, wide brimmed hat - posed in front of her rose bushes. I closely examine each picture that appears in the stack, marveling at how his life was once so different.

Another photo features a plump, matronly lady with a white apron laying on top of her dress. She reminds me of a stereotypical Mrs. Claus except her hair is not snow white. In her hand is a rolling pin, and behind her is a large wad of dough. On a table nearby are apples in varying stages of being peeled and cut up. Like many of the other photos I have seen of people of this time period, the woman does not smile. Most people back then kept their features expressionless. But the woman in this picture does not. She pouts at the camera, her eyebrows skewed downwards. When Edward explains that Martha was upset at having to stop baking just so the photographer could get a decent snapshot of her, I laugh a little. I laugh more when I notice that the elementary school aged boy sitting across the room from Martha and whose legs do not yet reach the floor is a young Edward. With his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, I smile when it hits me that he was shoving apple slices into his mouth. Evidently, his table manners back then weren't quite what they are today.

My light giggles fade away as I take notice that I have looked through all of the photos. I give them back and watch as he zips them back up into the backpack. I've seen with my own eyes the proof that he is from an era long ago. But one question remains unanswered.

"How did you come here?" I say once he has completed his task.

His arm weaves it's way around my middle again and the sparkle in his eyes dim. "My father took sick first. The Spanish Influenza was just beginning to rage through the city. I drove him to the hospital in the middle of the night. The place was a living nightmare, Bella. Doctors and nurses were scrambling around. The sick and the dying were slung into every spare bed in the facility.

"Father grew worse by the hour. It was a terrible sight to see. The man that I had only seen as stable and strong minded had suddenly become bedridden. He was so weak, he could barely move... He silently suffered." Edward pauses to draw in a breath. "The next night, my mother insisted that I needed to go home to rest. I had been up on my feet for nearly the entire time we had been there. I told her no, but she said that I needed to rest so I could help them the next day. So... I said goodbye to them and began to drive home." He stops again, his eyelids lowering. "That was the last time I ever saw them," he confesses in a whisper.

My fingers wrap around the elbow which hugs my waist, gently reminding him that I am here to offer comfort if he needs it. He told me last Saturday that his family all died from the flu. I assumed that he meant some horrible modern strain stole them away. Now I understand. And although I am sorry that he lost them, I am thankful that he did not meet a similar fate. That epidemic killed more victims than the First World War.

"What happened?" I nudge at him.

"I decided to relax at a park before I went home. It was dark, the sun had set long before I left the hospital. There was a bench in the middle of the park that I found and I sat down to just listen to the nighttime sounds of the city. I sat there for a while - just thinking. Then, a strange sound from nearby made me curious. I stood up and began searching the area for the source. I'm still not positive, but it sounded like drums were being played in the middle of the park. Eventually I entered a small grove of trees and shrubs and found where the sound originated."

His mouth twitches a few times while his brows lower themselves. "There was a swirling vortex. It spun in place... Have you ever noticed how water will spin around in a sink as it goes through the drain?"

My head moves up and down slowly.

"Well, it was similar to that, but on a larger scale," he explains. "I could hear the sound of the drums coming from inside of it. And although I knew that whatever it was could be dangerous, I could not resist taking a closer look. It was like being handed Pandora's Box and being told to never open it. My curiosity overpowered me, I suppose. So, I reached out to touch it... And it sucked me inside."

My fingers dig into his arm in a death grip. Being sucked inside of anything couldn't be very pleasant. But a weird vortex? It sounds like something from a nightmare.

"Did it hurt?" I rush out.

"No. It didn't hurt at all. I only fell."

I relax slightly and lean back into him. "What was it like?"

For a brief second, his mouth puckers contemplatively. "Have you ever read Alice In Wonderland? Well, it was similar to how she would have felt, I would think. But, instead of landing in a magical land, I landed right over there." He stretches out his arm to point towards a grassy area twenty feet away.

I sit up straighter in his lap, my eyes expanding. "This is where you appeared?"

"Umm hmm. It was nearly twilight - June 20 of last year. The sun was setting and there was just enough light to see the meadow. I thought that I was still in the park somewhere. I had yet to realize that not only was I not in Chicago, I was in a completely different century. So, I decided that I needed to find a way out. I spent the next few hours wandering through the forest. It was too dark to see and then it began raining at some point during the night. It soaked me to the bone... Anyway, I became disoriented soon enough and fell down an embankment." His chin moves from my shoulder and goes to rest on top of my head. "And that's where your father found me the next day," he adds in a lighter voice, his breath tickling my scalp.

Somehow, my eyes stretch wider than ever before. Things make more sense now. Yet it is also more painful to fathom. Mike once mocked Edward for venturing into the forest and getting lost. But I see that it was not so simple. Not only was Edward unexpectedly thrust into another time period, he was dumped into a random locale in the wilderness. He would have had no compass, no map, and no supplies to protect against the elements. Any number of bad things could have happened to him - numerous ones jumping into my head immediately. Grizzly attack. Starvation. Disease. Lumberjack serial killer. The possibilities are endless.

The horrifying thought has me jumping off his lap and onto the blanket in order to properly look at him head-on. "You could have died," I panic.

His face dips lower, gazing back calmly but seriously. "I could have, but I didn't."

"You almost did," I squeak. If Charlie hadn't decided to fish in that particular area that day, would Edward have survived at all?

One shoulder lifts relaxedly while his head shakes back and forth. "I don't believe that fate would have allowed that. I think it had other plans, love."

My lungs hold on to the air in my chest for longer than normal and I stare in silent wonder. Does Edward not realize what he just called me? He said it smoothly, like he has referred to me as "love" since day one.

His eyes squint a little, concern written within them. "What's wrong?"

I don't answer right away. My brain eagerly sorts through this new development. I knew that he cared for me. That is no surprise. But I had not anticipated that he could feel more than that already.

My heart flutters and simultaneously swells from the knowledge. He loves me. Just like I love him.

A slow smile slips onto my face. "Nothing. It's just a lot to take in all at once, I guess."

The worry in his eyes melts away and he nods. "I know."

"What happened after that?" I urge, getting us back on our previous subject.

"Your father took me to the hospital and I stayed there for three days," Edward responds. His mouth curls and a disgruntled expression appears. "It was not a pleasant experience."

"And then?"

"Then I went to live with the Cullens."

I draw in my bottom lip and deliberate on how to introduce another topic - the Cullens' many strange characteristics that mark them as different from the rest of us.

My fingers nervously fidget on my lap. "OK, but how did you come to live with them in the first place? Jessica told me that Dr. Cullen was your godfather."

Edward pulls in air as though to speak, yet not a word comes out. His eyes dart their focus from me, down to the blanket, and back to my face once again.

"He wasn't really, Bella. That was something I had to tell the students to keep them from knowing the truth."

My mouth twists to the side. If Carlisle is not his godparent, there must be some other reason why Edward came under his care.

"I looked him up, too," I announce before I can chicken out.

"And what did you find?" he asks steadily without moving a muscle.

"Barely anything. I only found his name listed as a doctor at Forks Hospital."

Edward's stiff posture loosens. When he does not comment on what I have shared, I add, "I looked up your whole family, but I could find only a handful of information... They know all about you, don't they?"

"Yes. They know everything."

"And you know everything about them... Don't you?"

Tilting his head, his eyes narrow slightly. "What do you mean?"

I ignore my nervous stomach and spill everything that I have gathered. "None of them are related, yet they all share the same strange eye color. All of them have the palest, whitest skin that I have ever seen. Both Alice and Emmett have ice cold hands. And, for some unexplainable reason, the residents in La Push think they are dangerous. But, not you." I deepen my gaze. "They aren't like you or me, are they?"

Slamming his eyelids together, his face remains tense for a span of ten seconds. When they gradually reopen, a hint of exhaustion haunts his eyes. "You are right. They aren't like us. They are very special people." He pauses to move his long legs out from underneath himself and leans back on his hands. "I can't say anymore than that for right now. I promised that I would protect them as best as I could. I swore that I would keep quiet about their...personal business. But, I will speak with them soon about this. I think you should know, too."

"Will they be mad?" I wonder, thinking back on all of my snooping.

"For the most part, I should think that they won't be. If I know them, they probably have been preparing for this since January."

My head jars back, as though I am experiencing whiplash. "Why?" I blurt, scrunching my forehead.

Edward's face slumps into a lopsided grimace. "There is more that I can't tell you quite yet. I'll just say that some in the family believed that there was a reason that I came here. Some of them thought the reason is you."

"Me?" I say, my tone fluctuating into a high pitch.

"Yes, love. There's something else I haven't told you about. I had a couple of dreams in the days before my father became sick. They both involved a woman in a white wedding gown that I could only see from behind. I didn't think too much of them at the time... Starting after you moved here, the dreams returned. I would chase after her through the forest - which by the way, looked much like these woods surrounding us. Then, the week before last, the dreams changed. I caught up to her and spun her around to face me. And it was you."

My jaw flops down to my chest.

Without hesitation, he adds more. "I dreamt of you over eighty years ago and arrived in the same time period as you. If fate wasn't involved somehow, then I don't know what to think."

The enormity of everything he has shared overwhelms my senses, causing my skin to change to cold and clammy. Edward lost his parents to the Spanish Flu pandemic. He is a time traveler. He lives with a group of people that he has termed "special". While all three of these things are thought provoking, the dream has left me dumbstruck.

Edward dreamed of me decades before I existed. He calls it fate. And I have to agree that it does appear that way. But what he saw inevitably revives in my memories the multiple conversations Mom has had with me concerning marriage. She and Charlie had dated some during high school and suddenly found themselves dealing with a teenage pregnancy. They married right away, wanting me to come into this world in a two parent household. That lasted until I was a toddler. Then, Mom decided that they were incompatible. The divorce came soon afterwards.

"Don't make the same mistake I made, Bella," Mom would drill into my skull at every opportunity. "Wait until you are in your thirties before you even consider marrying anyone."

I always listened politely to her advice on waiting to marry, but I never thought it would apply to me. The idea of marriage to a girl who spent more of her time reading of fictional characters than hanging out with actual people her own age sounded like a fantasy. I thought that I would likely never meet any intelligent, hypnotic males who could be similarly attracted to me. Instead, I am seventeen years old and already found one who just so happens to know what I look like in a white wedding gown.

Edward's face falls in a wince. "Too much too soon?"

I blink a few times to clear my head, temporarily banishing thoughts of wedding dresses and marriage. I'll worry about them later.

"Maybe just a little," I gulp in a tiny voice.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoyed the super duper long chapter. **

**Next Chapter****\- Stormy weather during the drive home. A frantic phone call. A sudden disappearance. And one pissed off vampire.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	24. Silent Running - On Dangerous Ground

**Chapter 24- Silent Running (On Dangerous Ground)**

**March 13, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

I have always enjoyed looking at photographs of the outdoors. Desert canyons, snow covered mountaintops, towering forests, sandy beaches on faraway islands - they all can be breathtakingly beautiful. But I am not cut out for exploring those places. It takes stamina, coordination, and balance. And, of course, I don't have any of those qualities. I knew this about myself years before Edward led me to a picturesque meadow in the Olympic forest. So, when he checks his pocket watch and announces that we need to start hiking back to the car if we hope to get out of the woods before dark, I am more than just a little unenthusiastic. Trudging the first five miles to get here sapped nearly all of my physical energy. Now I have to do it again? In reverse?

I reluctantly extract myself from Edward's arms and allow him to pack up our picnic blanket. I take one last look around the meadow, aware that it will probably be a long time before we come back. Once he heaves the backpack over his shoulders, we leave the grassy oasis and head into the forest gloom. The weak, cloudy daylight barely penetrates through the thick tangle of limbs high above our heads. And it's weirdly quiet, too. Songbirds shun this dark area, preferring the less dense sections of the woods to make their homes. All I hear are our footsteps and the breeze rattling the leaves of the trees. This place reminds me of the Haunted Forest in the movie version of _The Wizard Of Oz_ \- all that's missing are a few flying blue monkeys.

Edward sticks close to ensure that I remain upright during our hike. My mind, however, drifts in thought to the night he was unceremoniously dropped here by that swirling vortex. As much of a headache this area of the forest is during the day, he had it much worse. Forced to trek through it at night, he dealt with absolute darkness and rain as he blindly searched for an exit. I honestly don't see how Edward even made it to a place for anyone to find him. If it had been me in his place, I would have sprained an ankle roughly ten minutes in and probably never seen the light of day again.

At least there is no rain to hinder our progress today. That's the only bright side to this journey because it appears that the forest is intentionally trying to make this hard on me. My feet roll around on acorns, trip over exposed tree roots, and fall into hidden holes animals have dug over the years. This place is my personal hell on earth. We've been walking for well over an hour and my entire body aches. And we still have a long way to go before we will get out of this place. However, judging by my throbbing legs, I am not sure if I will make it out of here alive.

The worst part about the hike has to be the dead trees that lay scattered in our path. I admit that the smaller ones aren't difficult to maneuver around, you can usually step right over them. But this is the Olympic Forest. It specializes in humongous trees that soar into the bleak, overcast sky like the skyscrapers in Seattle. When these giant trees tumble to the ground, it takes decades for the microbes to break them down. So, whenever Edward and I come across one of these fallen obstacles, we have no choice but to scale over the trunks like mountaineers attempting to conquer Mount Everest. Of course, he has no problem since he can hop over the dead trees in the manner of a mountain goat. On the other hand, I would need rope, a harness, and a few spare hours to get over them if I were on my own.

We are walking away from our last ascent when Edward glances down at me. Or, to be more precise, he strolls away from the fallen tree as though we are on a sidewalk in a city park while I try not to hobble around like a feeble, ninety year old lady. But that is nearly impossible. If truth be told, my feet are ready to detach.

"Are you tired?" he asks, a touch of concern lacing his tone.

Tired is an understatement. I am _exhausted_. But Edward doesn't need to know that. He gets around this place just fine. Those legs of his are so long that he can take three steps and he has already covered a quarter of a mile. I don't want him to think that I can't keep up with him. Or, that I am pitifully weak. Even though that is exactly what I am.

Feeling his eyes monitoring me, I try to keep my facial expression neutral when I answer. "No, not really."

He stares with unblinking eyes for a short time. Then he roughly exhales through pursed lips. "_Bella_," he breathes out. Right as his mouth opens to add something else, an electronic sound interrupts him. After shrugging off the backpack, his hand slips into his jeans pocket and pulls out the cellphone.

While he is distracted with his text message, I use the opportunity to my advantage. I stagger over to a small fallen log and plop down on top of it, using it like a chair. I'm glad I can sit for a bit without having to whine that I need to rest. My legs are in that weird place - somewhere between sore and numb - that lets me know that I will need to soak in a hot bathtub tonight if I hope to ever walk again without the need of a cane.

A couple of minutes into my break, Edward flips his phone closed and his attention wanders over to me. Soon, he zones in on my legs. His eyes remain there for a few beats before refocusing back on my face. Without explanation, his arms rise and stretch out in my direction. But, they are in a strange position. They're not in that I-want-to-hug-you kind of way that he usually does. They aren't spread open far enough.

"Come here," he requests while simultaneously utilizing a deep, burning gaze that normally has me doing what he wants first and asking questions later.

However, this time my body is put into high alert and I freeze, just now becoming aware that I have been absentmindedly rubbing the sore muscles of my leg.

"For what?" I ask, my forehead lowering warily.

"I'm carrying you," he announces.

My mouth smashes together and twists to the side. I didn't mind him helping me _walk_ through this hellhole. But being carried is out of the question.

"You can't carry me," I huff.

"And why not?"

A gigantic sigh blows out from between my lips. Either Edward is intentionally playing dumb just to get on my nerves, or he didn't eat enough at lunch and now his brain cells are malfunctioning.

"How far away are we from the car?" I deadpan.

With his arms still held out towards me, Edward's head cocks to the side to think over my question. "Around two and a half miles, I should think," he responds lightly, as though that distance is nothing.

I laugh at the ridiculous suggestion and shake my head. "There's no way I'm letting you carry me two miles through the woods," I scoff.

Edward's mouth puckers contemplatively. "You didn't complain so much when I carried you from biology to the school office," he points out.

My eyes roll back so hard that it almost hurts. He must not remember that little incident as well as I do. Or he has selective memory syndrome.

"Umm... Yes I did. Besides, how long did that take you? Two minutes? This is completely different," I counter.

Edward's mouth dips into a small frown. He has no defense to that logic. Even he has to admit that toting me through the wilderness like I am a one hundred and fifteen pound newborn is unrealistic.

The fact that I won the argument should make me happy, but it doesn't. Night will be creeping up soon, and I doubt I can move any faster than a tortoise with a limp. Long story short, we are screwed.

While I am spiraling into a depression, Edward speaks again. "Then, how about you climb on my back? It would be less of a strain on me and we could get out of here faster."

The scowl on my face eases up a little. That idea isn't so bad. Being on his back doesn't sound nearly as ridiculous as his first suggestion. If we had only a short way to go, I would probably take him up on the offer. But more than two miles on his back? No way. I can't do that. It would kill him.

My head shakes in the negative. "I'm not going to be the cause of your back going out on you. I'll walk," I respond, folding my arms in my lap.

Silent seconds tick by. Edward says nothing, only observing me from his position ten feet away. Yet, slowly but surely, a mischievous smirk emerges. He abandons the spot he was standing and creeps over to me.

"I see that I'll need to convince you then," he purrs, his demeanor reminding me of a lion on the hunt for game.

I give him the side-eye, immediately suspicious. "What do you mean?"

Taking me by the hand, he coaxes me to stand up and enters my personal space. My eyelids immediately flutter closed to bask in the heavenly scent of his cologne. Warm breaths hit the side of my neck, sending me into a shivering mess. I helplessly lean in for more.

"I really think that you should allow me to carry you," he rasps at my ear.

My lust clouded brain clears enough to realize that this is Edward's new strategy. He is seducing me with the intent to change my mind. And damn him. It's working.

But I don't like to give up. _Ever_. Especially if I know I am right. So, I try to stay strong.

"And I don't," I reply in a pant, hoping that it isn't too obvious.

In direct retaliation, Edward moves in closer. Placing his mouth directly behind my ear, he trails tiny kisses to drive me crazy up and down my neck.

"But I want to," he murmurs at my throat, nipping at the skin there.

My heart does double time by the onslaught of ways he is getting to me. I never knew that Edward fights dirty.

"You'll tire yourself out. And drop me," I gulp pathetically, employing the lamest excuse my woozy brain can think up at the moment.

His mouth wanders down to my collarbone. Lightly brushing against my skin, his teasing lips feel like a mixture of pleasure and pain. My body is threatening to blackout into a swoon right here in the middle of nowhere.

"I would never," he answers in a whisper, sounding like an angel. But I don't think angels can generate this much heat. Edward has a little devil in him, too.

With my eyes still closed, I feel him back away. I must have been depending on him to support the both of us because the instant he is gone, my knees give out. I plummet straight down to the forest floor. Yet his arms snatch me around the middle before I hit the ground.

Through my hazy vision, I squint up at my rescuer. A pair of sparkling eyes grin down at me. "See? You can't walk on your own. That proves it," he jests.

My gaze sharpens into slits, piercing through the mental fog. All it took was for Edward to bring forth his smart-ass side and that swoon of mine cleared right up.

"That doesn't count, Edward. _You_ did this to me," I emphasize with a glare.

Still smiling, he nods his head a couple of times. "Which just goes to show you that I deserve to be punished. I'm carrying you, and you can complain and taunt me into my ear the entire way, if you like."

My frown gradually relaxes as I stare at this boy. Edward is persistent. And sometimes he takes the chivalry thing a little too far. But, he really doesn't fight fair. When he isn't distracting me with his lips, he uses his charm to win me over to his side.

A laugh bubbles up from me - one that before I met Edward, I was unaware that I could even do. Since I will be riding on his back, I throw the backpack on and adjust it to fit me. He crouches enough where I can easily wrap my arms around his neck. My legs lock around his waist. His hands slip under the back of my thighs to keep me from falling. Once I have all of my limbs securely fastened around him, he rises to his full height and takes a few practice steps to test things out before setting course towards the parking lot.

Despite my reservations, my added weight is not killing him. His steps remain firm and steady, as if having me on his back is no big deal. I rest my chin on his shoulder and relax into him. He was right. Piggybacking _is_ the best scenario after all. Not only are we moving much faster, we get two and a half miles of uninterrupted snuggle time. Could someone please tell me why I fought against this again?

Not long into the trip, I recall that he said I could punish him. But I don't think I can do it. I can't complain about anything because I am honestly enjoying this too much. Riding on his back beats trudging through miles of decomposing forest debris. And taunting him doesn't sound appropriate either. Besides, what would I even say? That he is too polite and chivalrous? That's not an insult, it's a compliment.

Gradually, I come to see that there is something else I would much rather say.

I snuggle closer to him, turning my face for access to his ear. "You're an idiot," I begin in a whisper. My mouth spreads into a smile, imagining what he must be thinking right now. "But I guess I'll have to go on loving you anyway."

Edward's throat vibrates when he chuckles, producing a rich baritone. The hands supporting my legs playfully bounce me up and down. "That is far more than I deserve. But I will gladly take it," he smoothly replies.

I plant a kiss behind his jaw as a reward, producing a nice moan from him. The walking pace he had initially set immediately increases. I hold on tight, vaguely hearing his grunts whenever he has to cross rougher terrain. We arrive at the dirt parking area in under an hour's time - and that's including the two times I had to shimmy off his back so we could climb over a tree blocking our way.

Now that we are free from the dangers of the forest, I drop off Edward's back and slide the backpack from my shoulders. The sky is beginning it's transition to night, the daylight barely seeping through the darkening clouds. In the distance, a solid wall of storm clouds moves over the land. Lightning bolts flash every so often. Seconds later, thunder shakes the ground. Thank goodness we got out of the woods when we did. It looks like there will be rain soon.

Turning away from the show in the sky, I notice Edward standing by the opened trunk, rolling his neck and shoulders on the sly. I am likely the cause of his discomfort. And he never uttered a word to indicate that he was in pain or needed a break from lugging me around. He is a big, gallant idiot. But he's _my_ idiot now.

I march up to him, grab him by the collar of his t-shirt, and tug him down to my level. His eyes briefly enlarge, probably surprised by this bold and demanding Bella that has suddenly arisen before him. But when my mouth greedily moves over his lips, he doesn't complain. We allow the last couple of hours worth of pent-up frustration caused by the long hike to seep into the moment, spurring us on. If it wasn't for the impending storm traveling closer and closer, I have no doubt that we would have enough energy to go on like this for the remainder of the evening.

A warning clap of lightning forces us to separate and we take cover in the Volvo. Edward fires up the engine and drives onto the nearby country road. Within minutes, light rain taps against the roof. As we travel farther, it comes down harder and the wind picks up. Each time a gust blows by, it shakes the car and sends dead leaves into our path. The storm increases in strength. Tree branches land on the road. When the car headlights hit a large object sprawled from one side of the road to the other, Edward slams on the brakes.

"What is it?" I squint. Through the thick curtain of rain, all I can make out is one big blur.

He heaves out a sigh and puts the car in reverse. "A tree is blocking the road. We'll need to take a few back roads in order to get to town now." Before we take off again, he extracts his cellphone and hands it over. "You better call your father and let him know you'll be a little late. Maybe he can send someone to clear the road once the storm passes."

I nod and dial in my number. It takes several rings before anyone picks up.

"Hello?" answers Charlie's familiar gruff voice.

"Hey. It's me. I'm going to be late. The storm knocked down a huge tree and it's blocking the road. We're having to make a detour."

Charlie grunts. "Where is it?" he questions. I give him the name of the road and he scribbles down the information. He then does the usual shtick of telling me to be safe and look for shelter if the storm gets any worse.

I'm ending the call when Edward turns the car onto a dirt road which cuts through the woods. Well, I'm not sure if it can be called a "dirt" road anymore. Thanks to the rainstorm, it's more like a huge mud puddle. Edward grumbles under his breath as we enter the oozing mess. Soon, the car is splattered with hundreds of droplets of mud and muck. When splotches of it land on the windshield and the wipers smear it across the glass, his face glowers at it like he wants to stop and clean it off.

I hold in my smile, biting down on my lips. He really loves this car. It's not surprising really. Even if it's a piece of junk, I've seen some boys lavish their first car with more attention than they give their girlfriends. To be fair, it's a common teenage trait. I think something in our brains changes during puberty and that's why all we can think about is getting our driver's license once we hit our sixteenth birthday. And from what Edward said earlier about his old life in Chicago, it must have been like that for him too. He said that he loved driving back then. I kind of wish that I could see a picture of him in his family's car. Though, I wonder if they even had driver's licenses in 1918?

My face jerks away from the window to stare at Edward. Another question comes out of nowhere. I forget all about the subject of cars and the stormy weather.

"When's your birthday?" I say to him. It floors me that I know the year he was born but never thought to ask for the exact date.

Edward stops giving the windshield a dirty look. He turns his head in my direction, but a frown remains. "June 20th. Though I'm not quite sure what to make of it anymore. I'm obviously not a one hundred and three year old man, so how old should I consider myself?"

"What do you mean?"

He goes back to staring straight ahead, carefully steering around the larger puddles on the dirt road as he clarifies his statement. "Well, I turned seventeen on June 20, 1918. I went into the vortex on September 26 of that year. That would have made me approximately seventeen years and three months old. Now, keep in mind that I've lived in this time for nearly nine months. If I had stayed in my own time for those nine months, I would be turning eighteen very soon." He pauses and glances at me, his strained eyes hinting at how much this subject bothers him. "So, how old am I, Bella? Seventeen or nearly eighteen?"

My forehead furrows at the question. It's like a riddle someone at a Mensa meeting would introduce to confuse all of the other brainiacs in attendance. And I am by no means a genius. But one fact does stick out above the rest. That date sounds awfully familiar.

"I'm not sure how you should view your true age," I start off, speaking slowly. "But June 20 is your birthday either way you look at it. You were born on that day in 1901. And, since you appeared here on the twentieth of June in 2004, you can say that it's your birthday too - just in another way."

Edward glances away from the road. At the same time, his frown slides away and the worried creases around his eyes smooth back out. "A rebirth," he says in a low voice.

My lips curve upwards, pleased that he understood what I was going for. "Exactly."

His perfect posture loosens slightly, giving him a more relaxed look. "And what of you, Miss Swan? When is your birthday?" he wonders.

"September 13."

He unleashes a smile that outshines my own. "That gives me plenty of time to come up with a proper gift for you."

I sit up into attention. I'm suddenly more terrified of him than the bad weather threatening us. After his thousand dollar shopping spree yesterday, I hate to imagine what kind of "gift" he has in mind. But he has another thing coming if he thinks that I will allow him to spend all of his allowance on me.

"Oh, no you don't. No presents," I warn him.

_"What?" _ he asks incredulously.

"I said, no presents," I reiterate, enunciating my words clearly.

His eyebrows and lips pucker out. "And why not?"

"Because I don't need them. Just having you is my gift."

His shoulders droop and he lets out a long sigh. "_Bella_... Being selfless is a trait that I truly love about you, but I do believe that you are taking it a bit too far. It may make you feel noble for not receiving anything, but take a moment to imagine how I would feel. Would you deprive _me_?"

"What would I be depriving you of just because you can't buy me anything?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Joy," he replies straight-faced.

I promptly erupt in giggles. God, he's dramatic sometimes. Maybe if the piano thing doesn't very work out for him, he can go into acting. He's certainly talented enough.

"Stop exaggerating," I grin, rolling my eyes.

Edward's face shakes back and forth. "I'm not exaggerating at all. Giving you a little something would-"

A loud ringing trills from the cellphone on my lap. I glance down and see "_Alice_" flashing across the little screen.

Edward holds his hand out for the phone while eyeing me seriously. "We're not through discussing this," he says.

I smile smugly back when I give him the cellphone. It's cute that he thinks he can sway me to his way of thinking. Too bad that he will be disappointed.

"Hello," he greets into the phone, one hand still on the steering wheel. Only a few seconds into the conversation, he becomes oddly quiet. The carefree expression on his face dies. "But why? Bella is with me. Her father is expecting her home soon," he asks in a rush. Moments later, his face snaps to the right. He gapes at me with huge, fright-filled eyes, causing my blood pressure to rise.

Yet, just as quickly, a hardened expression takes root on his face. His jaw locks, straining the muscles of his neck. All of the playfulness from earlier is gone.

"I understand. We'll wait for him there," he says in a no nonsense tone of voice. He then flips the cellphone shut, tossing it directly on the dashboard.

I moisten my dry lips and swallow before I speak, his distressed energy palpable. "Is there something wrong?" I ask.

Instead of answering right away, the car comes to a stop and reverses. Both hands hastily rotate the steering wheel, turning the car around and pointing us back in the direction we just came from. The car's speed increases but not by much. The blinding rain and muddy road won't allow us to go very fast.

Edward coughs into a hand and peeks over at me. "There's a bit of a complication right now," he answers evasively.

My knee begins shaking from the tension. "And what would that be?"

His mouth pops open and moves hesitantly a few times. "I-um. I'm in a tiny, _miniscule_ amount of trouble, so we need to head up to Neah Bay for a little while."

My eyes bulge in their sockets. Neah Bay is no quick drive. It's at least forty-five minutes away. He may be trying to minimize the situation, but I saw the fear on his face when Alice or whoever it was spoke with him. Something is wrong. _Very wrong_. Based on what little I know, only one group of people have given Edward any real trouble around here since he came to this time period. And one person in particular appeared very interested in him just last Saturday at the beach.

"What kind of trouble, Edward? Is Sam giving you problems again?" I press.

Without hesitation, he shakes his head. "No. It's nothing to do with him."

My knee stops trembling as a little bit of relief floods through me. Sam is a giant - even compared to someone as huge as Emmett. At least I don't have to worry that Sam is trying to kidnap Edward today.

"Then what is it?" I question, knitting my brow.

His head rocks from side to side again. "I don't want to worry you," he replies, eyes glued to the road once more.

My eyes rotate in their sockets. "Too late. You just told me that you are in trouble. Of course I'm going to worry," I fire back.

His eyelids slam shut for a split second, fingers clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. "I want to tell you, Bella. I really do. But, I'm not sure how to tell you right now without causing more harm than good." The green of his eyes reemerge, gazing back pleadingly. "So, could you please try to just relax for the moment and trust me? I promise to tell you soon."

I observe him, searching for signs of trickery but I see none. I think he is telling the truth when he claims that he wants to tell me what's going on. But since he can't right now, it's really irritating. I lock my arms tightly across my chest and give him a nice glare. If he can't let me in on what's going on yet, he is at least going to know that I am ticked about it.

"Fine. But you need to tell me soon, Edward. I'm at my wits end right now," I huff, pointing my nose in the air.

A sliver of sadness crosses his face, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards. His right hand scoops up mine and holds it tenderly. "I'm sorry about this, Bella. And I will tell you when I can," he promises.

My grudge wears off as rapidly as it arose. I slacken off on my glare and nod my head. Being in a relationship with a boy whose secrets would shake the world comes at a cost, I guess. And that price is receiving the information in dribbles here and there instead of getting it all at once. At least I got some of it today. I should be happy. I'm sure the scientific community would love to hear about just a tenth of what he told me so far. Heck, probably the folks down at the National Enquirer, too. They would have headlines for weeks.

Our ride doesn't get any better. As a matter of fact, it gets worse as the minutes pass. Rain comes down in sheets, appearing as if someone is spraying us down with a fire hydrant's hose. And Edward is stressed out. He drives stiff as a board, his fingers digging into the wheel. Our speed barely hits twenty-five mph. Whenever he attempts to go faster, he can't see ahead of himself. Occasionally, I watch his eyes roaming from side to side, scanning the woodland that surrounds us.

Since I don't know what's going on or what I should be concerned about, my body goes ahead and decides to worry about everything. My hands fidget in my lap, anxiously picking at my short fingernails. I have the urge to stick them into my mouth and chew them all off.

The cellphone makes a shrill sound, cutting through the tension-filled air like a knife. Edward has it snatched up and flipped open before it can finish the first ring.

"Yes?" he barks.

Not five seconds later, our world spins.

An ear-splitting noise accompanies a forceful impact. Like a diesel truck hitting the side of the Volvo, the car jolts off the road. I hear someone screaming. Then I realize it's me. My head wrenches to the side and flies forward. In a moment of awareness, I see that the dashboard is on a collision course with my face. It's hard and unyielding. And I know that this will hurt.

The airbags pop out before my head makes contact with anything, protecting me from injury. A nanosecond later, the car stops moving. Another sound punctures the air. It's loud and grinding - like metal on metal. I scream again, though the airbag muffles the sound. I brace myself for a second impact.

But nothing happens.

"Edward! Are you OK?" I screech.

He makes no reply.

A heavy dose of fear fuels me to shove my face away from the airbag. I'm terrified that I will find him laying unconscious against the steering wheel. I shimmy up straight in my seat and notice a few things right away.

It is eerily quiet. There are no vehicles around that could have crashed into us. Rain and wind are blowing into the interior of the car unhindered, drenching the leather seat and carpet. I first assume that the door popped open during the crash. But I am wrong. There is no longer a driver's side door. It is missing. There is no driver either. Edward's seat sits empty, as though he never existed. And, flapping in the wind, the seatbelt that once held him lies in shreds upon the seat.

"Edward?" I cry out.

I yank off the binding restraints of my own seatbelt and scour the car for signs of him. There is none. All I can find is his phone on the floor in the back of the car - still flipped open from his last call.

Edward is gone.

Tears threaten to fall from my eyes. How can he be here one second and gone the next? People don't just disappear into thin air after a car accident.

My heart lurches and my fingers clench my chest. A horrible realization hits me.

Maybe he was ejected from the car. He could be hurt.

I'm scrambling to climb over the center console and crawl out on his side. A bang on the glass behind my back has me screeching again. My body whips around. Through the passenger side window, I find someone standing there wearing a bright red blouse and coal black slacks. Both items of clothing are soaking wet, as though its wearer has been lounging around outside during the stormy weather instead of seeking shelter. A bright flash of lightning reveals long, golden hair that would make Rapunzel jealous and a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

"R-rosalie?" I sputter through my racing heartbeat.

A pale white hand grabs the door handle and yanks it ajar. My jaw drops confusedly. I stare at the opened door for a passing moment. Didn't Edward engage the automatic locks earlier?

"Get out, Bella," orders Rosalie, her naturally husky timbre shining through.

I rise from my seat cautiously, keeping an eye on her. The pouring rain drowns my clothes and hair almost instantly. But I ignore it. I ignore nearly everything. The screaming wind. The damaged car. Rosalie's magical appearance. The fact that this is the first time this girl has ever spoken to me. None of that matters. There is only one thing on my mind at the moment.

"_Rosalie_," I pant in desperation, water dripping down my face. The panic surges and my voice grows progressively higher. "I can't find Edward. We were just driving along but something hit us and knocked the car off the road. And now Edward's gone! I've looked everywhere! I think something happened-"

"We need to leave," she interrupts, her amber eyes scanning the landscape. "_Right now_."

My eyebrows smash together. "We can't! Don't you understand? Edward said he was in trouble! And now he is _missing_!" I repeat in case she didn't hear me the first time.

Her eyes turn hard and frosty when they land on my face. "_I know that_," she emphasizes. "And it is being dealt with as we speak. But you, on the other hand, are exposed and in danger. So, close your eyes and don't open them back up until I say. Understood?"

Rosalie is intimidating on any given day. She's supermodel gorgeous even when she should look like a drowned sewer rat (like I do right now). Also, she is kind of scary. Although a lot of the guys at school are in love with her, not a single one has the courage to say anything. Her unfriendly glares and generally hostile attitude keeps most people far away. And she currently is staring daggers at me. I should be trembling in my hiking boots. But I am not. My stubborn streak has kicked into high gear.

"No! I do not '_understand'_ any of this!" I shoot back, balling up my fists. "Edward said he was in trouble. A few minutes later, we're in a crash - yet I don't see any other vehicles that could have caused it. Then _you_ show up out of the blue with no explanation. None of this makes sense! I want to know what's going on! _And I am not leaving until I find him_!"

I am met with nothing but the sound of the rain falling from the darkening sky. The wind picks up, blowing Rosalie's blonde hair all around. Her icy gaze turns into pure fire, resembling an angry volcano goddess readying herself to punish the residents of some tropical island.

One moment I am having a staring show-down with Rosalie. The next moment, my feet and head are dangling high above the ground. Confused and thrown off balance, my eyes squint up through the rain to find Rosalie's face less than a foot above me. She glares down, her brows furrowed and lips curled. I come to understand that she holds me in her arms like a baby - in the exact position I had vehemently opposed when Edward offered to carry me through the forest just an hour or so ago.

"Just shut up and close your eyes for a couple of minutes," she commands in a hiss.

I don't have time to ask her why. I don't even get the chance to demand that she put me back down. Because a heartbeat later, I see nothing but a blur.

My eyelids snap open, frozen in place. Air whistles past my face - as if I have stuck my head outside of a military jet while it's traveling at the speed of sound. Nothing except streaks of light fly by, my lightheadedness nearly blinding me. Now I understand why she told me to close my eyes. I wish I had listened.

Rosalie makes no sound to indicate that toting me around is a burden. With movements barely perceptible, her feet glide effortlessly across the land like a figure skater on a frozen pond. I don't even bounce around. Yet, my body shivers and shakes uncontrollably. I am unsure of the exact cause. It might be because the ice cold arms carrying me filter through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. Or, it could be from the knowledge that Rosalie runs faster than a cheetah that has me unnerved.

Unexpectedly, the rain and howling wind die out completely. I find myself standing on my own. I take a step forward. Evidently too dizzy to walk, my feet slide out from underneath me. I wince, sensing myself falling. Instead of having a face-to-face meeting with the ground, however, stone arms deposit me onto something soft and comfortable in less than a second.

Reopening my tightened eyes, I warily survey my new surroundings. I am sitting on a milk white couch. The room that I am in is decorated almost exclusively in shades of white. A few chairs and a couple of couches are bunched into a group. A fancy chandelier hangs from the ceiling, hundreds of clear crystals sparkling in its light. It dawns on me that in less time than it takes to brush and floss my teeth, Rosalie covered at least a dozen miles on foot and brought us to the Cullen residence.

Well, at least I have something new to add to my list of unusual characteristics the Cullens possess...

My head rotates in all directions in search for her but she is nowhere in sight. She vanished the instant after she set me down on the sofa. I am alone in their living room. My arms wrap around my mid-section and I try to hold myself together - though its admittedly hard to do that at the moment. I listen for signs of life within the house, hoping to hear Esme or Alice's cheerful voices telling me that I fell asleep on their couch and that Edward's disappearance was only a horrible nightmare. But the only sounds I hear are my chattering teeth and the drip-drip of water sliding down my body and onto the polished marble floor.

A blanket suddenly envelopes me. I jump with a start and it falls to my lap. I can barely believe that Rosalie stands before me again. Her face is disgruntled but her eyes have softened slightly. They look me up and down, stopping when they come upon my dripping wet shirt. Then, they harden again.

Reaching out lightning fast, she yanks the blanket back up until it covers everything except my head. She takes a step backwards and observes her handiwork. Gold eyes lock back on to my face. "Keep it around your shoulders. Don't let it fall again," she instructs, her voice almost a growl.

All I can manage to do is nod my head once. I hold on to my blanket in a vice-like grip. My rebelliousness from only a few minutes ago is nowhere in sight.

Rosalie turns and saunters away, her hips swaying as her sandaled-feet click across the floor. I notice that her wet clothes have been replaced. She now wears designer jeans and a pink, off-the-shoulder crop top. I guess I shouldn't be shocked that a girl who runs like The Flash can change clothes just as fast.

She stops at the front window and gazes outside at the evening sky. The rain only lightly sprinkles here. It's nothing compared to what came down on us before the car accident.

My breathing intensifies, choking me with a sobering thought. I'm bundled up in a wool blanket while Edward might be laying unconscious somewhere on that deserted dirt road, slowly freezing to death - just like what happened to him almost nine months ago.

But no. That can't be right. I don't believe Rosalie would have grabbed me and left Edward behind to suffer. There are obviously things going on tonight that I don't know about. But Rosalie does. How else would she know exactly where the Volvo went off the road not thirty seconds after the fact?

I gulp down some courage and address the golden-haired girl at the window. "Rosalie? Do you know where Edward is?"

Her body stands like a mannequin, studying the view out of the huge window by Edward's piano.

A few seconds go by.

"No," she answers.

Encouraged by her willingness to talk, I fire out another question. "Is he all right?"

She does not answer this question as quickly as before.

"I don't know."

My heart pounds wildly, threatening to escape the confines of my chest. I had hoped she had information to share. Something to give me a little hope. My body interprets her lack of knowledge as bad news. The room spins dizzily, making me feel as though I hopped back into Rosalie's arms for another breakneck sprint through the countryside.

"Calm down. Put your head between your legs," she orders gruffly, suddenly seizing my head and lowering it. My limp, ragdoll body doesn't fight when she positions me as she directed. "And breathe through your nose," she adds.

A short time passes.

The clouds of hazy gray and black in front of my eyes gradually fades as my breathing reverts to normal. My head lifts up. Rosalie has resumed her vigil by the window but keeps one eye on me.

"What's going on?" I ask weakly.

She monitors me for a few moments. Then, she turns her back, shutting me out. She utters not a single word.

I sit up straighter, tightening my grip on the blanket. "Please?"

The seconds drag by slowly. I'm giving up on her saying anything at all when she finally chooses to break the quiet spell.

"It's no concern of yours," she responds without looking away from the window.

"If it concerns Edward, it does," I counter.

She turns on her heel, her head held high. "It concerns this entire family - not just Edward. And what goes on among _us_ has no bearing on the likes of _you_."

After her rebuttal, she pretends to suffer from hearing problems and ignores me. I try to nudge at her to give me something, but she doesn't fall for it. She remains stock still, silent as the huge cedars that line the driveway.

I want to march out of here. I'll go find Edward myself if I have to. But, after what I have seen and experienced in the last few minutes, I doubt my wobbly legs could even carry me out of this house. And judging by the hard, warning glances Rosalie keeps shooting me, I'm going to guess that she wouldn't like it very much if I try to leave and end up falling right back down.

Out of nowhere she cocks her head to the side, like a cat listening for the scurrying of a hidden mouse. Then I hear a rattling sound myself. A harsh pounding follows. Rosalie walks hurriedly from the room - although not supernaturally so. She unlatches the front door but blocks my view of the visitor. I hear her murmur something. A deeper voice mumbles back. Soon, a figure pushes inside of the house, steering around her and making a beeline for me.

I suck in a large gulp of air and breathe properly for the first time in a long while.

Edward.

His hair is disheveled and dripping wet. His clothes are soaked and muddy. But he walks and breathes, so he is perfect to me.

"Bella," he rasps, rushing across the room.

He drops to his knees at my feet, his chest heaving. Fingertips glide over my face and gently move my chin from side to side. His panicked eyes drink me in, just as I do to him. There's nothing wrong with me except for heaps of stress. But that's not the case for him. Underneath the dirt splattered on his face, there is a cut gashed across his brow ridge.

I reach for his forehead and touch his injury. It no longer bleeds but I'm sure it stings like hell.

"You're hurt," I say in a low whimper, my eyes meeting his.

"No. That's just a little cut. I'm fine," Edward insists, cupping my face. "What about you?"

My tongue glides over my dry lips and I swallow down the hollow feeling that I had for the past quarter of an hour. "I'm OK."

He takes me at my word and gathers me into a hug, his hand rubbing the back of my head. My blanket drops to the couch. I lay upon his chest and breathe him in. I smell rain, sweat, a hint of a sweet scent, and something like wet dog reeking from his dirty t-shirt. I don't care. If they bottled this scent, I would buy it. I finally relax, comforted and satiated by his presence.

I'm enjoying the feeling of having him close when I notice that my upper body is much damper than it was just a minute ago. Curious, my fingers squeeze the bottom of his shirt. Water drips out like a sponge. I thought I was a wet mess, but I have nothing on him. It looks like he jumped into a lake just before walking through the front door.

"You're soaking wet," I remark.

"As are you," he notes.

"Just a little."

Still on his knees, he backs up a few inches and tugs the blanket up to my neck again. A tiny part of me wants to tell him to stop fussing with it - I'm not frail or anything - but I keep my mouth shut. I'm too thankful right now to complain.

Five feet away, a tiny figure falls into a chair. Alice's short, usually perfect, hair is wet and lifeless. Her dress is waterlogged. Her matching pumps are caked in mud. But, somehow, she still makes this look work for herself. What's with these Cullens? Can they never have an "off day" where you look horrible and there is nothing that you can do about it - just like the rest of us?

"Rose left to join in on the...search," she announces enigmatically, her face set into a slanted grimace.

I look from Alice to Edward, waiting for one of them to elaborate. But neither does.

"Edward? What's happening?" I ask quietly.

He briefly peeks at Alice, then his eyes dart back to me. "What did Rosalie tell you?"

"Nothing," I reply.

In a flash, his mouth compresses into a thin line. His head shakes almost imperceptibly. Looking at the sliver of a girl in the armchair once more, his eyes grow large and pleading. "_Alice_," he breathes out.

Alice freezes, her topaz eyes staring straight ahead. Edward makes no comment to indicate that what she is doing is worrying or strange. Seconds later, she blinks.

"Tell her," she responds.

Edward swipes up my hand right away, gazing at me deeply. "Bella... Do you recall today when I told you that the Cullens were very special people?" he begins. My head nods up and down. "Well, I wasn't exaggerating when I told you that," he continues somberly. "In fact, I did not capture their uniqueness nearly enough. Each one of them possesses certain..._skills_ that are more advanced than any human's. They are exceedingly fast - as I'm certain you learned from being with Rosalie. They each can lift objects that are hundreds, if not, _thousands_ of pounds. Their skin is bulletproof and hard as marble." His jaw snaps shut and grinds for a moment. "Actually..." he adds in a tentative tone, "they are no longer what would be considered as human."

My face scrunches together. Edward makes the Cullens sound as though they are superheroes from a comic book. Can they scale tall buildings in a single leap too? Like Superman? He _was_ technically an alien, just as I had speculated that the Cullens might be. But no. That can't be it. Edward said that they are "no longer" human, which must mean that they were once. So I guess the hypothesis that they are from the planet Krypton is out.

Maybe a radioactive spider bit them. Or they accidentally stepped into a puddle of radioactive ooze. Or, Dr. Cullen invented a potion and it gave them all super powers after they drank it. I remember thinking once that Emmett looked like the Hulk...

"So, what? Are you saying that they are mutants are something?" I ask.

"No, no. Nothing like that," Edward corrects. His thumb grazes my knuckles, as though he is comforting himself as much as me. "They were human - just like you or me - at one time. But, they were each changed into what they are now. They lost their mortality, but gained invincibility. They do not sleep. They no longer need to eat the way we do. They only require one thing now." He pauses to suck in a breath, his eyes never leaving my face. "They live off the blood of - um - _animals_."

My brows raise and snap together. They aren't aliens. Nor are they fairies, mermaids, leprechauns, or any other fairytale stock character. And I don't think Spiderman or the Incredible Hulk need to drink blood in order to survive. There is only one creature from lore that fits that description.

"_Vampires_," I whisper in awe.

Like a TV playing back my life, I relive the dangers I had unwittingly put myself into since I moved to Forks. Starting on my second day at school, I walked alone with Alice to the empty library so she could copy my Biology notes for Edward while he was out sick. She could have eaten me right there. Then, Edward brought me to a house full of vampires just so I could borrow a few books! It's a miracle that I made it out alive.

"Yes. But they are much more than that," Edward cuts in, shaking me loose from my stupor. "They value human life far too much to drink from us. Carlisle was the first to be changed. He abhorred the thought of taking a life. And, by accident, he found that he could live off the blood of animals.

"But he longed for a higher meaning to his existence other than what was dealt to him. Hiding in the shadows for all of eternity did not appeal to him. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he became a doctor - to care for the sick and injured humans that crossed his path. And it helped his conscience greatly. Surely, he reasoned, saving human lives makes up for the urge to feed from them.

"He wandered the earth for centuries in this way, proud for his medical accomplishments yet not being entirely happy. Loneliness plagued him. Even though he ran into a vampire such as himself here or there over the years, none felt compelled to stay around for long. And revealing his true identity to a human in order to make a friend was out of the question. It is generally frowned upon to tell humans that vampires do, in fact, exist.

"It wasn't until Carlisle came across a young woman who had been mistakenly pronounced dead did things turn around for himself. You see, Carlisle (like every creature of his kind) has the ability to change a human into a vampire. And that is what he did that day. The dying woman was given life again - but a _new_ one - free from her troubled past. I've questioned why out of the thousands of people he has come upon since his change to an immortal, why it was _this_ particular woman he chose to save in this way." Edward pauses, a tiny smile lifting up one corner of his mouth. "He said that it was instinctual. Something inside took over and refused to allow her to slip away. It wasn't until Esme reawoke as a vampire did he realize that she was what he had been searching for during all of those lonely centuries. She would become his companion for eternity. His _mate_ as they are sometimes called. But Carlisle prefers to call her his wife."

Edward's hand tightens over my own. "Esme was the first he saved. Next came Rosalie. Then Emmett. All three of them would be in their graves at this very moment if not for Carlisle. He taught them everything that they would need to know in order to survive undetected in human society, hoping that they would choose to follow his diet. And, except during their early years when they were still learning how to control their craving, that is what they all have done.

"It comes as a heavy burden, however. Feeding from animals never completely satisfies the thirst. Their throats burn, constantly tempting them to give in and take a human life. But the alternative is much worse, they found. Drinking from a human - by accident or otherwise - robs them of their humanity. They would behave like barbarians, never being able to live in a group - or _family_ as they usually call it. And blending into human society is practically unimaginable if you are only there to hunt them. So, they long ago agreed that suppressing their natural instincts and living amongst humans was preferable."

Edward's eyes flick to the floor for a short time, appearing slightly apprehensive when they return. "But, of course, not all vampires choose to live the way the Cullens live. Most - uh - feed from us. And that's the reason why you and I were run off the road tonight. One of those vampires attacked us, but the Cullens were able to keep him from causing any harm."

"That's not exactly the reason, Edward," Alice interrupts. Her tiny, pixie face rocks back and forth between Edward and me as she speaks. "Three nomads showed up on our doorstep tonight. I saw them coming a few minutes before they showed up, but I did not know it was going to turn out the way it did." A surprisingly large sigh leaves her dainty mouth. The area around her eyes becomes visibly taut. "Esme opened the door to greet them and tried to nicely send them away. But, the blonde male noticed your scent before we could get them to leave."

Things are beginning to make sense now. The phone call was to warn Edward to leave the area...

"What happened after that?" I blurt out, my attention glued to Alice.

"Well, I saw that he had decided to go after Edward," she admits with a frown.

My brows knit together. How could Alice know that unless that vampire told her what his plan would be?

As I am pondering her strange explanation, Alice tilts her head and her eyes glaze over again. Seconds later, she blinks and stares at me. "I knew because I _saw_ that the nomad would target Edward tonight," she clarifies.

Both my body and heart jerks, taken completely by surprise. She answered a question that I had yet to ask. Please, god. _Please_ tell me this vampire girl can't read minds. Because if she does, she will know _all_ my secrets. Like, how obsessed I am with Edward. Or, how that overshirt he took off in my kitchen last week and forgot about is now up in my room for me to cuddle with when I miss him.

I swing my face back to Edward, my eyes wide and fearful. "How did she know what I was going to ask?"

Before he can say anything, Alice answers my question herself. "I know because I can see the future, Bella. When someone decides to do something, I can sometimes see what will happen. You decided to ask me a question, so I saw it."

My erratic heartbeat recaptures some semblance of normalcy. I think I can handle precognition better than mind reading. A finger winds up my hair, wrapping the strands tightly around my index finger. Now I understand how she "saw" that vampire wanting to attack Edward.

"Do all of you, uh, vampires have that ability?" I wonder.

She shakes her head a couple of times. "No. Everyone is different. Some have various talents to defend themselves from attack. Others have special mental abilities, like deducing when they are being lied to or things like that. But many of us have no extra talents. My particular ability is rare. I haven't met anyone yet that can do what I can do."

My lips purse out as I evaluate what I have learned so far. Vampires are different from what folklore has passed down through the generations. Yes, they can be beautiful but deadly hunters - like a tiger stalking its prey. Yet some of them, like the Cullens, are genuinely caring beings. Now that I am calmer, I remember more clearly the day when Edward brought me to his home to explore their library. The people who greeted me were not bloodthirsty, evil beings. They did not smack their lips at the sight of my tasty neck. Instead, they smiled and treated me like a guest. Esme brought out apple pie and generally behaved as if she was throwing a small get-together. She was kind and sweet, reminding me of some loveable sitcom mom from years gone by. I can't imagine Esme wanting to hurt anyone. Or Alice for that matter. She's almost always smiling, like she is permanently hooked up to a cylinder of laughing gas.

When you get right down to it, drinking blood from animals isn't too strange either. Vampires have to eat somehow if they don't want to massacre a village or anything. And it's not like humans are much better morally. Ninety percent of Charlie's diet is animal based - does that make him a monster too?

Yet, I don't recall ever reading that vampires can do anything special besides turning into bats, or seducing humans out of a few pints of blood. Apparently, they can have special talents. _Super powers_. Maybe that's where superhero stories originate. But one aspect about these powers has me stumped. If Alice can see future events, how come a vampire kidnapped my boyfriend tonight?

"If you saw what he was planning to do, why couldn't you stop him before he got to Edward?" I ask her immediately.

Her lips jut out into a pout. "We tried. But the nomad kept changing his mind on how he would attack. It threw me off. It wasn't until it was too late before I saw that we were practically on top of you two."

"And then?"

"As I'm sure you saw, the nomad ripped Edward out of the car and ran with him for a few miles. Rose stopped to help you while three of us went after the nomad. We almost had him surrounded when he suddenly stopped and threatened to kill Edward."

Although I knew that the vampire who took Edward likely had unsavory plans, hearing it out loud makes it more real. With a gasp, I whip around to Edward. He remains on the floor at my feet, a hand grasping my knee. But his face scowls at Alice, brow ridge slung low and eyes hard. At first, I am confused by his anger towards her. Then, enlightenment dawns.

My own face mirrors his glare - except I aim it at Edward instead of Alice. "You weren't planning on telling me about that part, were you?" I accuse.

He glances at me and the irritated expression evaporates. "I didn't want you to worry," he frowns.

I heave a humongous sigh at this clueless male. Didn't want me to worry? That's all I have done!

"I saw you vanish in an instant tonight, Edward. There is no way that I could do anything _but_ worry. Telling me what really happened is better than sugarcoating the truth," I snap.

His face cringes. Leaning forward a little, he tightens his grip on my knee. "You're right," he begins softly. "I _was_ in danger. Carlisle tried to convince the nomad to release me, but he had no desire to do so. He wanted me dead. This nomad - this _James_, as he called himself - revealed that he had run across Alice many years ago when she was still human. You see, Alice has no memory of her human life. She only recalls waking up and finding herself what she is now. But this James character claimed that he once found her locked up inside of an insane asylum. He also claimed that her blood called to him like no other - before or since. It was his intention to capture Alice and drain her of everything she had.

"However, Alice had made a friend inside of those walls. A vampire who worked for the asylum protected her, keeping James at bay. But this unnamed vampire knew that he could not protect her indefinitely. So, he chose to free her from the asylum and change her before James could kill her.

"According to James' account of things, he came upon the vampire in the midst of her transformation. He was outraged that his 'meal' had been taken away. The nomad and Alice's unknown benefactor battled. And James won. Though, by that time, Alice was fully changed and long gone.

"I suppose his idea for taking me tonight was revenge for her escape." Edward pauses to snort, his mouth rising into a small sneer. "The nomad called it _recompensation_. If he couldn't feed from Alice, he would feed from someone close to her. _Me_."

Edward rakes a hand through his wet hair and sighs. "Even though Carlisle, Emmett, and Alice had him almost surrounded, he had the upper hand. He threatened to break my neck if they so much as moved an inch. They were powerless to do anything. If they attempted to free me, James would immediately end my life. So, we had a stalemate for quite a while.

"_He_ was waiting for his mate to show up. Then, Carlisle noticed the scent of Sam in the air, so he distracted the nomad while Sam moved closer. Sam was able to sneak up behind the vampire and took him down," ends Edward suddenly.

I don't bother trying to hide my bewildered frown. "How could Sam have done that? I thought that vampires are stronger than us."

"They are. But Sam and a couple of other Quileute are more than just mere humans, love. They are shapeshifters, too."

My chin falls open wider than a python's. I knew there was something different about Sam and that Paul guy when I saw them at the beach last week. But _shapeshifters_?! What does that even mean? That they can be human one second and turn into whatever they want in the next? Like, houseflies? Or tea kettles? Should I poke everything in the bathroom at home with a stick before I shower in case the toothbrush holder is really a shapeshifting pervert?

"I don't... How? What do you-?" I ramble, unable to form an intelligible sentence.

"They can morph into wolf form," explains Edward, somehow knowing exactly what I had wanted to ask. His hand slides over my own, entwining our fingers. "They possess greater strength than an ordinary human. So, that's how he was able to take that vampire down."

I blink in shock several times, staring straight into his eyes.

"Are you telling me that I moved to the most boring town on the planet - yet it secretly has at least two types of mythical creatures roaming around plus a time-travelling boy?" I reconfirm in a low tone.

Edward's mouth twitches, one corner rising slightly. "I'm afraid so."

My back slumps into the couch, my gaze set into a daze.

_Vampires, and Werewolves, and chivalric boys. Oh, my..._

The few gaping holes left in the puzzle have filled in. Almost everything has an explanation. The Cullens are vampires and are no longer human. That is why their skin is milky white - like corpses at the morgue. The local tribe fears the Cullens because they know that those legendary supernatural beings live in Forks and don't trust them. And the reason why Sam and Paul are so huge is because they are teen wolves in the flesh.

A smile slides onto my face. When I moved here from Phoenix, I thought I would die from boredom. I thought Forks would slowly rot my brain until it resembled a character from _The Night Of The Living Dead_. Oh, boy, was I wrong. _Wonderfully_ wrong. Ever since I crossed paths with Edward, I haven't had too many dull moments.

His face tips down, strengthening his gaze and watching me suspiciously. "And just what are you smiling about?"

My smile swells further. "Everything makes sense now. Between seeing your family's yellow eyes, you confronting a huge guy at the beach, and me thinking I was crazy for suspecting that you were not a modern boy - I can finally relax. Do you know how often I stayed up at night trying to figure out everything? It was so frustrating!"

His bronze eyebrow cocks up. "So, what? You don't mind that I live with a coven of vampires?"

My head slants to the side as I try to find a way to explain myself. "You told me yourself that they were not a threat to anyone. And that they only take animals for their food. So, why would I mind?"

Edward and Alice share a quick side glance. She's grinning from one ear to the other. His expression is more of disbelief.

Before I can guess his plans, he gathers me into his embrace again. It's almost lung-crushing, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

He holds me for a span of several seconds before he says a word. "I'm not sure if I should be thrilled by how you feel, or if I should be scolding you for your complete lack of self-preservation," he smiles at my ear.

I giggle softly. He may be technically a teenage boy but he sometimes sounds far older than his years. I'm not sure if it's a byproduct of the age he was born into, or if he would have turned out like this no matter what. Either way, he is perfect to me.

"I do have more questions," I confess.

"I'm sure that you do. Ask away," he encourages.

Backing away from his chest, I look up into his eyes. "OK. How did you wind up living with the Cullens? You can tell me now, can't you?"

His smile fades and his lips turn down. "Yes, I can. Though it may sound a bit crazy."

My eyes squint reproachfully. He was born over a hundred years ago, has vampires making him picnic lunches, and werewolves wanting to hang out with him. And now he's claiming that it's the _remainder_ of his story that's the unbelievable part?

"How much more crazier can your life be?" I tsk.

His mouth tugs into a small smile. "Well, maybe it's not quite as exciting as admitting that I talk to supernatural creatures on a daily basis - I will admit. But it is unusual. You see, I met Carlisle a few days before I left my family, Bella. He was their doctor. When I vanished, he tried to help my mother find me, but of course, there was no possibility of that. Many years later, Alice and Jasper came along and joined Carlisle's family. Alice told Carlisle what had happened to me all those years ago and that I would be reappearing in a few decades time. Alice predicted where I would turn up and approximately when it would be."

"So they were waiting for you to come?" I surmise.

"Yes. And they spent many weeks teaching me the basics of how to live now. I had to learn how to use computers and cellphones. I found out that refrigerators no longer require an ice block to keep the compartments cool. They taught me _everything_."

"And that's one of the reasons why you try to protect them, because they have helped you," I speculate further.

The tip of his nose scrunches a tiny bit. "Yes and no. I appreciate what they did for me, yes. But I keep their identities secret because I have come to care for them as the kind and loving beings that they are. I wouldn't want them to suffer because I couldn't keep my mouth shut."

"But you've told me."

Sitting upon her armchair, Alice joins the conversation. "You were going to find out someday anyway. Since you're with Edward now, there's no way we could keep what we are a secret for long. Besides, it's easier this way now. We can talk to Edward about what's going on without worrying that you'll overhear and freak out."

Edward's cheeks suck in and he gives her an incredulous eye. "I suppose that's a simple way to look at it," he replies coolly.

"It's the only way," she retorts, her nose sticking up into the air.

My laugh takes me by surprise. How can two entirely different beings behave like bickering siblings?

Yet, my amusement vanishes at the thought of how difficult it must have been on him in the beginning. To go from living with your human family in 1918 to now? Staying in a mansion with perfect people who probably sleep in coffins down in the basement? That's highly unusual, to say the least. And to land in 2004 with absolutely no warning or preparation? It's unfathomable.

"It's still hard to believe that you showed up here the way that you did," I say sadly, shaking my head. "I can't imagine what it must have felt like to have left everything behind. Loved ones. Possessions. Money. I would have had a breakdown."

"Actually, it wasn't quite as bad as that. I did leave my family behind, but Carlisle had everything else waiting here for me."

"What do you mean?" I blink perplexed.

"He was my parents' executor of their will. After their deaths, he protected their estate. That piano is the same one that I first played on when I was five. He kept most of my things that I had any attachment to."

At least a pint of blood leaves my face. Alarm bells clang in my head. "You inherited an estate?"

"Well, yes," he nods serenely. "The Cullens kept their eyes on it until I could come back."

I try to remain calm. Just because he used the word _estate_ doesn't mean anything. If I died tomorrow, the courts would probably refer to my collection of dog-eared novels and my decrepit computer as things belonging to my "estate" too. Besides, his parents died way back in 1918. Money went a long way back then. Most people lived very comfortably on only a few hundred dollars a year. So it's doubtful that Edward's parents could have squirreled away too much before they passed away.

"Just how big of an estate are we talking about here, Edward? A few thousand?" I ask warily.

"Umm," he utters, biting the inside of his cheek. "I'm not sure. I rarely keep up with it." His upper body twists to face the only other being currently in the room. "Do you know, Alice?"

Her eyes glaze over like crystal balls for a couple of seconds and then flutter wide open. "A few months back, I convinced Carlisle to invest our money in a tech company that is set to revolutionize the cellphone industry. So the stock has increased by a little bit," she announces.

"How much, Alice?" he asks with a touch of exhaustion.

"Eight hundred million, three hundred and fiffty-nine thousand, seven hundred and two dollars... And sixty-one cents," she adds with a chipper head nod and smile.

A lot has happened to me today. But I believe that this may be a bit too much to handle.

Everything spins. The room. Alice. Edward. Then they all fade away. I see nothing but blackness, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. My body and mind fall into a black pit. And that's where I drift, floating in a world of my own where my boyfriend is merely a time-traveler - NOT a multi-millionaire too. Because that is just too much to accept right now.

Off in the distance, my ears pick up faint sounds. I hear my name whispered by a desperate voice. I also detect a cool breeze caressing my face. Slowly, my senses revive - though I feel groggier the more I reawaken. And worn out. I let out a moan, kind of wishing that I can stay in that weightless place for a tiny bit longer.

My eyes crack open, peeking through their slits. I see Edward frantically moving his hand around as he fans me, his forehead puckered with concern. I don't like being the cause of his stress. He must have enough of it to deal with already. I wish that I hadn't asked him that last question. Maybe if he had waited a week or two more before telling me that he is a teenage Richie Rich, I would have been able to take the news better.

Once the room stops rotating and I feel alive again, I sit up on the couch. Edward stops fanning my face and gives a long, unblinking stare.

"In the span of one day I tell you several terrifying secrets and you don't bat an eye. Yet, the moment you discover that we have a little money in the bank, you faint on me?" he finishes in a high pitch of disbelief.

My heart leaps up to my throat. With all of the unbelievable things I had to swallow today, I forgot about one of them.

"What do you mean by '_we_'?" I emphasize, eyes wide awake.

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, as though it should be obvious. "Why, you and me, of course."

My skin turns cold, draining of blood like before. Frightening thoughts of wedding dresses and commitments that may only last a couple of years before ending in divorce storm back.

Edward observes me for a second, taking in my likely chalk-white face. "It will be yours too one day in the future," he revises with a slight pout.

My balled up fists unclench themselves.

_The future_.

Not tomorrow or next week. I think I can handle "the future". That could be years from now. I won't need to worry for a long time that someone will say one day that he and I are incompatible. Or that he made a giant mistake and wants to break up. Just like what once happened to my father.

A clean white towel, carried by Alice, drops into Edward's hand. I had become so lost in our discussion that I had forgotten that he is still drenched with rain water. He rises from his kneeling position and towels off his hair. As he rubs his arms dry, he drifts over to the huge window by his piano and gazes outside. The rain has ended. The storm clouds have blown away, leaving behind only an overcast sky.

He's scrubbing the front of his shirt when a strange thing happens. All in a single blink of an eye, I hear a loud crack and the front door slams shut. Esme Cullen appears out of the thin air to hug the bronze-haired boy at the window.

"Oh! I was so worried! You're not hurt, are you?" she yelps, her beautiful face contorted in grief.

"I'm fine," he responds placidly. "And Bella is fine, too."

Esme's body turns into rigid stone. At a cautious pace, her face rises. Upon making eye contact with me, her mouth parts open in horror.

I hear a tiny laugh to my right. "Don't beat yourself up, Esme," consoles Alice. "Rose had to run with her tonight, so Bella has already seen how fast we can go. Besides, we just told her everything."

The thin brows on Esme's forehead rise, opening her eyes up even more. "You _told_ her?" she repeats in shock.

"We needed to anyway. She would have figured it out on her own eventually," shrugs Alice as though it's no big whoop. Then she gives me a small, friendly smile. "She's a smart girl," she adds cheerfully.

Esme takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between herself and me. Her fingers are clasped tightly in front. "So you know what we are?" she asks, almost guiltily.

"Yes."

Her hands drop by her sides and her head lifts higher. "What do you think about it all, Bella?" she questions in an odd, flat tone.

I cock my head, pursing my lips for a few seconds. "You want me to be honest?" I confirm.

"Yes, of course," nods Esme quickly.

I inhale a breath and hold it a moment before I explain my line of thinking. "When Edward first told me what you are, it scared me. I thought back on the time he brought me here to visit and how any of you could have attacked us both. Two humans against six vampires would be an easy meal for you all. Then, I remembered how kind you were to me that day - how nice and motherly you were. That didn't sound at all like the bloodthirsty beings that I have read about over the years. So, based on that, I think Edward was right when he said you were not a threat to anyone." I glance over at him for a split second. "I trust what he says."

When I meet Esme again, I notice that her bottom lip trembles. "Thank you," she responds in barely a whisper. She blows out her cheeks, the air exhaling slowly as she calms herself.

However, like a light switch being flicked on, her emotional turmoil promptly changes into something else entirely. She straightens her posture and smooths out her wrinkled, wet clothing. A smile as soft and sweet as a daisy sprouts on her face.

"Would you like a sandwich, dear?" she offers hopefully, her eyes now large and luminous.

I hear snickering from across the room. Alice hides her giggles behind a hand. Edward shakes his head and chuckles. I keep my answering smile small and simple. Laughing at an overly eager homemaker vampire isn't advisable until I can get to know her better.

"That sounds great, but I really should be going home now. I'm sure Charlie's wondering why I haven't showed up yet," I decline politely.

Edward tosses his towel on the back of a chair and moves closer to me. "You can't. It's not safe. The female nomad could attack you, Bella."

Female nomad? I thought the danger had passed.

My eyes shoot open as far as they can go. "What about Charlie?" I panic.

"He's fine, I'm sure," he replies gently.

"But you don't know," I retort, imagining the worst case scenarios. Charlie will hop into his car and come looking for me soon. What if he runs into that hungry vampire? I doubt his service revolver will help him much.

Edward sighs wearily and looks to his left. "Alice?"

She steps up and gazes back sympathetically. "Don't worry about it, Bella. I have an idea if it's all right with you."

"What?" I press in desperation.

"How about I go home with you tonight? We can tell your dad that we're having a sleepover. I can guard the house while you two are sleeping." Her body begins bouncing excitedly, bubbling over onto her grinning face. "Oh! And we can take those fun magazine quizzes and I can brush your hair! It will be so much fun! What do you say?"

My lips move yet no sounds come out. I've been to exactly one sleepover in my life. Back in third grade, Cindy Hyde invited ten giggly girls plus me to her house. I fell asleep in the middle of a teenage rom-com marathon and snored loud enough to wake the dead. They thought I was being a killjoy and making fun of the movie. But I was just worn out after spending half an hour hiding in the bathroom while they played Truth Or Dare. My truths were embarrassingly boring. And (even as a kid) I understood that being dared to call up a random boy and falsely telling him that he was your crush would only result in problems later on down the road.

If I couldn't make it through a human sleepover without having to call Mom to pick me up, how would I make it through one with a girl vampire that I barely know?

Edward leans down, murmuring into my ear. "You can trust her. She would never harm you. But, if you don't feel comfortable, I'll understand. I can tell her 'no' for you if that is what you want."

My teeth dig into my lip while I think things over. I can't leave Charlie home all alone and unprotected. And if Alice is anything like Rosalie, I bet she is stronger than I can possibly imagine. Edward says that I can trust her. He must be correct because he sleeps here every single night - with _Vampires_ right down the hall. And he's fine. Fit as a fiddle. They even saved him from being another vampire's dinner. So, if Edward can do it, I can too. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?

_Alice could pounce without warning and suck you drier than a starving mosquito._

Shut up, common sense. No one asked for your opinion.

I raise my head with determination and look Edward straight on. "I think it's a pretty good idea. Charlie would never suspect that Alice was there to protect us. And it's just for tonight, right?"

"It's however long it takes to catch the female. Hopefully it won't take them long to capture her."

"What will they do if they do catch her?"

His mouth presses tightly before he answers. "Destroy her."

My head rolls slowly up and down. If the Cullens have a problem, they can't call 9-1-1 and expect for the cops to throw an unruly vampire into the slammer. In their world, either you give the offending vampire a death sentence or they will inflict it upon you.

I pivot around to let Alice know that her suggestion sounds fine with me. But when I do, I notice that Esme is the only vampire in the room.

"Where'd Alice go?" I wonder aloud.

"She ran upstairs about five seconds after you and Edward began talking," Esme reveals. "She's probably gathering up a few things to take to your house."

Esme is correct. No more than a minute passes by when Alice makes a reappearance. She is walking at human speed down the grand staircase. Her wet dress is gone and has been replaced with a new, dry one. In one hand she easily totes two large suitcases. The other hand drags a trunk of the sort once used to pack all of your belongings before you made your transatlantic voyage on the Titanic. It's almost roomy enough for me to crawl inside and take a nap.

A deep growl rumbles from Edward's chest. "No, Alice. That is far too much to be taking for a one night 'sleepover'. Charlie is a smart man. He's bound to suspect that something is up if a tiny looking girl like you is carrying two hundred pound suitcases."

Her slim shoulders droop down. Alice abandons the trunk and a suitcase but keeps a firm grip on the second one. "OK. I'll just take this one. It has most of my important stuff in it anyway," she says disappointedly.

Edward takes my hand and escorts us to the garage. A beautiful, black car with tinted windows sits between Rosalie's sporty red BMW and Emmett's humongous Jeep. Alice pops open the car's trunk and tosses her suitcase inside. Apparently, this car belongs to Carlisle, but the two of them insist he won't mind Alice borrowing it. I am forced to agree with them. It's not like he needs it too badly. He probably runs faster than anything even NASCAR can come up with.

Edward draws me close to say his goodbyes. His fingers glide across my face and my neck. I allow his touch to absorb into me, hording it to last until I can see him again.

He tucks a clump of my long hair behind my ear and peers deeply into my eyes. "When you get home, please call me so I'll know you are OK. And if Alice bothers you, tell her to give you her phone and call me. I'll tell her to lay off."

I suppress my laughter to the best of my ability. He makes her sound like an annoying kid sister.

"I'm sure she'll be fine. I like her," I add with a smile. And I _do_ like Alice. I always have. She's beautiful, smart, and spunky. But instead of her drinking cans of Red Bull (like I once suspected), she probably drinks from actual bulls. At least I was close to being right.

"We're ready to go," she proclaims from across the garage.

Edward leans in, placing a quick kiss upon my lips. I guess he has chosen to keep things chaste and respectable since we have a vampire observing us. "I'll see you tomorrow," he purrs.

My face stretches into a grin. _Tomorrow_. That word holds so much promise.

"I can't wait," I say softly. I back up a step, throwing in a wink. He smiles crookedly, making me wonder if he is thinking of the same thing as I am. Like, an empty kitchen after school with no fathers, vampires, or werewolves in sight.

I duck into the pricy Mercedes and wait for Alice. Meanwhile, she skips up to Edward and the two of them speak for a moment. I strain my ears to hear what they could be talking about but all I can make out are mumbles.

Edward suddenly throws his head backwards and barks a sharp laugh. Alice's normally cheery face becomes a glower, directed exclusively towards him. She stomps away and jerks open the driver's side door.

"Call you later," she grumbles over her shoulder as she slips into her seat. Approximately two nanoseconds pass by and her frown vanishes. She's back to her perky self, her eyes bright and happy. "I've got so much stuff we can do to keep ourselves busy, Bella," she chirps. "Have you ever waxed before?"

Her question catches me off guard. "N-no. I just shave," I stammer, glancing over at Edward.

"That's fine," shrugs Alice. "We don't need to experiment yet anyway. It's probably best if we build up your pain tolerance before we try that Brazilian wax method. I read that it was a real eye-opener if you know what I mean."

I almost choke on my own saliva. My face's heat setting rises to _high_. I silently pray that Edward did not hear her. My head whips around. I find him staring at me with furrowed brows.

Yep, he definitely heard that.

Alice is humming to herself as she backs the car out of the garage. We're on the driveway when her nose lifts slightly and sniffs the air. Her attention snaps to me and her eyes do a quick once over. "What's wrong? Your face looks like a boiled lobster," she points out.

"You just talked about pubic hair removal methods in front of Edward," I murmur in a horrified daze. I just started kissing him last Monday. I wasn't ready for him to think about my nether regions yet...

"Oh, _that_," giggles Alice, her shoulders shaking. "Trust me when I say that he has no earthly idea what we were talking about. Up until around six months ago, he wasn't even aware that women shave their legs."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Most women didn't back in 1918. After he came here, he was so confused when he found out. He couldn't understand why we would want to remove all of our body hair. I think that's partly why he has been a little frightened of our ways and regards us as mysterious creatures. He acts like we have stranger rituals than an Illuminati ceremony." She giggles again, but louder. "He probably thinks waxing is shaving your legs while surrounded in candlelight."

I release a breath and smile a little. Then my worry returns. "Do you think he'll be all right now? That female vampire won't get him, will she?"

"Edward will be fine," she responds confidently. "That nomad is currently being run ragged all over the county by four of us _plus_ the Quileute wolf pack. She won't have time to give him any trouble. But even if that did happen, Esme is watching over him now. If that red-headed troublemaker comes within fifty feet of him, Esme's mama bear instincts will kick in. So don't worry about him. OK?"

I nod my head and loosen my stiff body.

Alice takes a brief glance at my lap. "You might want to buckle up. Since you're running late, I'm going to get you home a little bit sooner. And I like to drive _fast_."

I reach behind me and yank the seatbelt across my chest. "Edward does too. He seems to have a problem obeying the speed limit signs," I smirk.

She cackles a laugh and shakes her head. "No, Bella. You don't understand. To me and everyone else in our family, Edward drives like an old man operating an electric scooter. We vampires like to go_ a lot_ faster than him." Her pale lips twitch into a grimace. "He likes to poke fun and pretend that I can't drive. Like I'm a menace to the road. That's just _preposterous_. I've never been in a single accident. My record is squeaky clean." She adjusts the rearview mirror and ruffles her slightly damp hair, making it appear like she spent half an hour styling it instead of three seconds. "But if you have a problem with motion sickness, you might not want to look out the windows. Edward figured that out himself. And it's _really_ hard to get the stench of vomit out of a car's interior," she adds as a side note, smashing her foot down on the accelerator.

I immediately slam my eyes together, my hands griping the leather seat for dear life. I ignored one Cullen's warning about closing my eyes and almost fainted from the aftereffects. I won't make that mistake again.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- **

**Next Chapter****\- Girl talk with Alice (that sounds like a new daytime talk show, doesn't it?). This chapter will have everything. Alice's first "slumber" party. Alice answering Bella's lingering questions. Alice giving pedicures. And, of course, Alice raiding closets (because during this frightening time, we need a little laughter, don't we?).**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	25. We're Going To Be Friends

**Chapter 25- We're Going To Be Friends**

**March 13, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

My eyes are locked tight, not allowing even a small ray of light to creep through. I don't dare take a peek at my surroundings. Because when Alice Cullen announced that she likes to drive fast, she did not lie. As a matter of fact, I don't believe that she made that statement clear enough.

The car's engine strains from the force she exerts upon the accelerator. It's vrooming so loud that the people living along this rural road probably think the thunder has returned. Despite the seatbelt being strapped across my torso, I sway violently back and forth in my seat - my head almost smacking into the side window whenever she makes a sharp turn. She's humming during our journey from the Cullen mansion to my house. It's a happy and carefree tune, making this experience more like a souped-up and halfway terrifying version of the It's A Small World ride at Disneyland.

Without warning, she slams the brakes and the car screams to a halt. I lurch forward, my internal organs briefly shooting up to my windpipe before they resume their normal positions.

"We're here!" trills Alice.

Warily, I pry my eyes apart and take stock of the situation. We're parked in front of my house. I am alive and well - not lying in the hospital in a full body cast after agreeing that a vampire could drive like a bat out of hell down the back roads of Forks. Additionally, we did not run into a single bloodthirsty vampire that's seeking revenge against the animal-eating vampires who helped destroy her mate.

Well, so far so good. Now if Alice can only go the night without getting hungry and using me as a bedtime snack, everything might turn out just peachy.

I unlatch the car door and stumble outside into the fading evening's light. My eyes blink a few times to reorient myself. I'm a little wobbly from the rollercoaster ride Alice took us on, but it could have been worse. At least I held on to the contents of my stomach.

While I am evaluating myself for possible injuries, Alice grabs her suitcase from the trunk and then slips an arm through mine. "You did great for a first-timer," she compliments as she supports me to the front door. A smile eases onto her pixie face. "And you didn't complain one bit! Usually Edward's all like, '_You're about to hit that garbage truck!' _Or, 'Y_ou went straight through a stop sign_!' Ugh! Trust me when I say that his excessive worrying gets old fast. I'm a vampire for cryin' out loud! Why do I need to 'stop' at a stop sign when my superior eyesight can see plain as day that no one is coming?"

I'm not sure how to respond, so I just nod and smile. If nodding and smiling works on humans when they say or do something that I find too awkward to comment on, I figure it will work on otherworldly beings too. And it does. She's grinning now. Turns out that vampires are a lot like us.

We arrive at the door and I walk inside of the house. Charlie's stretched out on his ancient, ratty recliner and watching TV. He spots me as I enter the living room and his mustache starts twitching like mad. Grabbing the remote, he quickly turns down the volume of whatever he had been watching. "What happened to you, Bells? You're dripping water all over the-"

Alice pops out from behind the front door like a Jack-in-the-box before he can finish the question. With a thunk, her suitcase drops to the floor. "Hello, Chief Swan!" she greets in a perky cheerleader screech.

Charlie's head jerks as though a tornado blew him backwards. And really when you get right down to it, that describes Alice perfectly.

Her pale white hands clasp in front of herself and she bounces on her toes. "Do you remember me? I'm Alice Cullen. Edward's sister? We met at my father's welcoming party down at the hospital a couple of years ago?"

I seriously doubt Charlie will have any difficulties recalling the members of the Cullen clan. They're all kind of unforgettable.

"Oh - um - yes. Um. Hello," he rambles while his hands slyly attempt to wipe away potato chip crumbs from his lap. I guess he's only embarrassed at living like a slob when company comes over.

Alice glances at me for a second and covertly winks. "We _all_ got a little wet tonight," she giggles. "Can you believe Edward's car had a blow out a mile away from our house? We all piled into my brother Emmett's vehicle to go help. And then the sky _literally_ opened up just as we were about to pull it home. You should have seen Emmett's Jeep after we all climbed back in with our wet clothes! It looked like Shamu's aquarium! Water was _everywhere_!"

I try not to let my mouth hang open dumbly as she concocts this lie on the spot. But Charlie's mouth gapes wide enough for the both of us. Alice's effervescent energy is evidently more than what he was prepared for on this lazy Sunday.

She heaves a believable, dispirited sigh. "So now half the family is fretting over Edward's car while the other half is fussing over Emmett's. I tried telling them that it's no big deal. They're just cars. We can worry about them tomorrow or whatever. But no one listened to me. They're scrambling around like chickens trying to make the cars pretty again. I couldn't stand it."

She stops "complaining" and smiles again. "Bella very sweetly offered to let me come over here for the night. That sounded great to me! Hanging out with Bella is a lot more fun than changing a flat tire," she notes with a roll of her eyes.

Now that she has ended her fabricated story, Charlie looks my way. If we were in a cartoon, a thought bubble with a giant question mark would be hovering above his head.

"Do you mind if she stays for the night, Dad?" I ask, slightly wincing. Even if he says "no" and that she must go back to her own home, it won't make much of a difference. I'm sure Alice can run upstairs when he isn't looking, hide in my room for the rest of the night in order to protect us from danger, and Charlie would be none the wiser unless that female nomad decides to show up. But if that were to occur, Charlie will have more pressing things to worry about than Alice being an uninvited guest.

He fidgets in his recliner and looks between the two of us. "No. I don't mind." Then his thick eyebrows slant confusedly. "But I wasn't aware that you two knew each other that well."

Alice throws a lily-white arm around my shoulders and hugs me close. "Oh, the two of us have known each other for weeks. I liked Bella as soon as I saw her. We're going to be the _best _of friends."

I peek at her out of the corner of my eye. Is she lying, or is this that precognition thing at work again?

"Oh. I see," he replies gradually.

Since Charlie has agreed that she can stay, I move the conversation along before he can change his mind. "Um, Dad? Have you eaten yet?"

"No. I was waiting on you. I called Edward's cell number a few minutes ago but no one answered. It went straight to voicemail. I was about to go looking for you two."

My blood runs cold. There's a good reason why he couldn't get through. Edward's cellphone currently sits on the floor of his damaged Volvo. It's exactly as I feared. If I had stayed at the Cullen house, Charlie would be out at this very moment searching the roads and possibly run smack into trouble. I'm sure that female vampire wouldn't mind sampling from his neck.

Alice makes a tsking noise with her tongue. "That figures. All three of the boys are probably on their phones at this very minute looking up emergency car cleaning services. A little mud lands on their precious cars and then they fall back to being big babies." She gifts Charlie with an infectious smile. "I bet you're not like that. Your mustache reminds me of one a cowboy would grow. Like Wyatt Earp. Cowboys are manly and don't get worked up over little things, like dirt and scratches on a bumper."

Charlie's face blushes to fire red - a sight to which I have never before seen.

Wow... So _that's _where I get my curse from.

Before she can say anything else, I snatch Alice's wrist and pull her along towards the stairs. I don't want Charlie's face to stay that way forever.

"I'm gonna go change and help Alice find a place for her stuff. Then I'll make us something quick for dinner," I announce. Charlie bobs his head nervously and doesn't utter a peep. He pretends that he is interested in a hemorrhoid medicated wipe commercial on TV. Hopefully, by the time we come back down, his flushing face will be back to normal.

Alice follows me up the stairs, not even needing to hold on to the handrail like I do. Although the doors on this floor are closed, she walks straight up to mine and enters without needing to ask which is my bedroom. I wait until we are both inside of the room and the door safely shut before whipping around on her.

"You just flirted with my father!" I confront in a whispered yell.

I am beyond disturbed. I'm not sure if I should cringe in disgust or gag into the wastebasket. In fact, I am tempted to do both.

Alice tosses her suitcase on my bed and pops it ajar. "_Flattered_. Not flirted," she corrects while sorting through her clothes.

"There's a difference?"

She pulls a shirt out from the case and places it on an arm. "Sure there is," she explains while she multitasks. "Flirting is attempting to attract another person by saying things that may or may not be true. Flattery is just making someone feel good about themselves. There's no harm in that. Besides, we needed a way to distract him. He was about to grill you about why it took you so long to get home. I can promise that question is the farthest thing from his mind now."

"But...but," I sputter. "Charlie is my _dad_. You made him blush like a schoolboy. And he's almost middle-aged!"

Alice tosses her head back and belly laughs. "And I was around long before Chief Swan was even a twinkle in your grandfather's eye, Bella. He's practically a kid to me. If he is middle-aged, then what am I?"

My scrunched up face clears. "Oh. Sorry. I keep forgetting that you're not really a teenager," I admit.

With a bundle of clothes in her arms, Alice steps away from her suitcase. "Don't apologize. It's fine. I may not be technically a teenager anymore, but I am still very much like one. My face, body, and spirit will remain the age I was when I changed into a vampire. Only my wisdom has grown since then. I'll be like this forever." She pauses and glances around the area. "So... where can I put this stuff?" she asks, referring to the clothes she carries. I lead her across the room and pull out the empty, bottom section of my chest of drawers. Good thing I left a good portion of my clothes behind in Phoenix. Looks like Alice is going to need this whole drawer.

Grabbing a dry shirt and pants from my closet, I travel to the bathroom and change out of my damp clothes. The reflection in the mirror above the sink has me frowning. My hair is wet and threatening to frizz out like a French poodle's. I jerk down a towel and pat it dry. When I return to my room, Alice stands by the window with her cellphone pressed to her ear.

"I'm telling you - she's _fine_," she says, putting stress on the last word. "But since you seem to have a problem believing me, you can ask her for yourself." She then holds the phone out towards me. "It's Mr. Worry-Wart for you, Bella," she dryly reveals.

I walk over and extract it from her hand. "Hello?"

"_Thank god_," Edward gasps out. "_She insisted that you were OK but I wasn't so sure. Whenever I would ask to speak with you, she would say that you were too busy to talk and pivot the conversation in a different direction. I was beginning to suspect that she was hiding something."_

"Like what?"

"_With Alice it can be nearly anything. I wouldn't put it past her if she tried to kidnap you and bustle you off to New York City for a night of unbridled shopping along 5th Avenue. She's ruthless sometimes."_

"I heard that," she deadpans from across the room. I guess vampire hearing is more advanced than a human's.

I break into a smile. "I'm fine."

_"So the ride to your house was uneventful?_" he questions, almost sounding skeptical.

"I wouldn't know. I kept my eyes shut the entire time," I confess. I leave out the part during the journey where I secretly prayed that I would make it home with all of my body parts still attached. That would probably worry him more.

I hear him let out a small sigh. "_That's probably for the best. I forgot to warn you about her driving technique. She has a habit of switching lanes at 180 mph for no rhyme or reason. My neck suffers from whiplash whenever she gets behind the wheel."_

"That only happened _one_ time," Alice pouts with folded arms. "And Carlisle fixed him right up afterwards."

After telling Edward that I need to start on dinner, I end the call. When Alice and I reach the bottom landing of the stairs, I see a bowling tournament blaring on TV - although Charlie chooses to keep an eye on the two of us instead. I pretend to take no notice of his curiosity. Alice smiles sweetly as we stroll by. In response, his face threatens to redden again.

Once we are in the kitchen, I check the cabinets and try to come up with a quick and easy meal. It's been more than a week since my last grocery run, so my choices are slim. After much searching, I find a couple of tomatoes, a red onion, and some lettuce hiding in the vegetable crisper. There's some leftover roast beef I put in the freezer a few nights back, too. All I need to do is heat up the meat and - bingo - roast beef sandwiches.

I'm putting the beef into the microwave to defrost when a tiny finger taps my shoulder. "Want some help?" offers Alice.

"There really isn't much to do..." I trail off.

"Please? There must be _something_. I never get to do this at home. And I always _love_ trying to do new things," she begs.

My brows crumple downwards, struck by that last comment. "You've never cooked before?"

Her mouth dips into a tiny frown. "I don't know. I don't remember my human life at all. But I do know that I haven't since I was changed. There was never a reason for me to learn since I don't eat. And the only person in my life that I _could_ cook for has Esme as his personal chef. She prepares all of Edward's meals. Usually, she's sweet as can be, but she's a real dictator in the kitchen. She won't allow anyone else to cook!"

"Wait a minute," I break in, holding up a hand. "What do you mean that you don't eat food? I _saw_ you do it. It was only the week before last. Edward invited me to sit with you guys at your lunch table. I sat right next to you and watched you eat your lunch."

Her lips curve into a smile. "Well, you saw us chew and swallow - yes. But did you see us bringing it back up later?"

As realization slowly dawns, my nose crinkles up.

Alice laughs and pats my shoulder. "I know. Gross, isn't it? Back a couple of decades ago, we were enrolled at a high school in Minnesota and a boy suspected that we weren't really eating during lunchtime. Since we didn't want to give ourselves away, the four of us were forced to eat like normal kids for a while. After a few times, he stopped watching us and just shrugged it off as paranoia on his part. The only downside was that a girl heard Rosalie hurl inside of a bathroom stall right after lunch one day and went around telling everyone that Rose had an eating disorder. Rose wasn't happy, but it at least the students began believing that she was just your average, insanely beautiful teenager with serious mental health issues and _not_ an insanely beautiful vampire." Alice shrugs a shoulder carelessly. "But - anyway - that's why we pretend to eat and only stick food in our mouths unless we absolutely have to do it. Upchucking is no fun no matter what you may be."

"You don't eat at all?" I confirm, completely dumbstruck.

"Nope. We can't digest food like you can, so it's just blood for us," she chirps. "So...can I help?"

I suck on a cheek and look around, trying to come up with something to occupy her that isn't difficult since this is her first time helping in the kitchen. "Uh. How about slicing up the onion, tomatoes, and lettuce?"

"Gotcha! I think I can do that," she agrees, skipping away to do her chore.

I turn my back, hit the defrost button on the microwave, and then press start.

"OK! That _was_ fun! What now?" bubbles Alice from behind me.

My head swings away from the microwave. On the countertop is a plate of perfectly sliced tomatoes and onion with chopped lettuce sitting in a bowl. That task took her all of three seconds to complete.

"I think that's about it for now," I murmur in a stupefied daze. "Why don't you go take a break for awhile?"

She glides over to the table and sits, beaming a proud smile. Once the roast beef heats up, I'll ask _her_ to slice it. I want to see for myself her ability to chop things faster than a food processor.

There are a couple of minutes left on the microwave when her eyes glaze over, staring unfocused across the room at nothing but a speck on the bare wall. Ten seconds pass like this. I'm becoming concerned and wondering if I should call Edward for help when she blinks.

"Shoot," she huffs, the corners of her lips tugging down. "Right when Emmett was preparing to lunge for that female nomad's throat, a black fog blew in and my vision was cut off. It _has_ to be because of the Quileute. Whenever that wolf pack gets near the action, I can't see a thing! I wish they would just stay a little further away so I can keep up with how things are going."

"They're _helping_ you guys chase her?"

"Uh-huh. Shapeshifters are about as fast as we are." She snorts and adds, "Though Emmett lives under the delusion that _he_'s the fastest thing on the planet. I wouldn't mind for Sam to prove him wrong for once."

"But I thought the Quileute hate you," I point out.

A wan smile tilts up her mouth a tiny bit. "Oh, I'm sure most of them still do. But after Sam overheard Carlisle pleading for James to release Edward, I think he finally realized that we're fighting a common cause - to keep Edward and the people around Forks alive. I'm not sure yet what tomorrow might bring, but at least this is a start."

Much too soon, a shuffling sound drifts down the short hallway that links the kitchen to the living room. Charlie walks in warily, probably poised to run if Alice tries to wink or compares him to "manly" men like John Wayne. She takes pity and keeps her smile on a low setting. That appears to help. As long as she doesn't lay the flattery on too thick, I think he can make it through dinner without his face simmering.

I am kind of disappointed, though. Because Charlie has made an early appearance, I can't ask Alice to put on a super fast Benihana food-slicing demo. I am forced to cut the roast beef up myself. My knife slices through the meat agonizingly slow since I can't afford to rush. It's too soon to test Alice's self-control if I were to go and nick my finger.

While I work on preparing our meal, Alice sparks up a conversation with Charlie. Peeking at them every so often, I see him nervously rubbing his upper lip as she chats about a trip to Tacoma she recently had. As time progresses, he relaxes and chimes in with a word here and there. He even smiles a little after a while. By the time I have food on the table, he is back to his normal self.

Swallowing down a mouthful of sandwich, he stares at the empty plate in front of Alice. He awkwardly clears his throat and tries to become a gracious host. "You're welcome to eat with us," he hints.

She pats her belly and shakes her head. "Thanks, but I already ate earlier. I'm stuffed," she fibs.

He and I concentrate on our food while Alice focuses on filling the silence with her voice. It's pleasant, like wind chimes on a porch. And I notice Charlie's head lifts a little higher when she mentions how much safer and peaceful it is here in Forks than the last place her family lived.

We are nearly finished with our meal when Charlie wipes a napkin across his mouth. "So, Bella," he says out of the blue. "What were you and Edward doing out on Hastings Creek Road? That's a pretty long drive away from here."

His question catches me unawares. If I tell him that Edward showed me the spot where he fell out of a wormhole, Charlie wouldn't waste a second before signing me up with the closest mental health facility. Telling him that Edward and I explored the forest today wouldn't be good either. Charlie may trust Edward more than he once did, but I seriously doubt that trust would extend to leading me into the same wilderness Edward supposedly got lost in last summer. That vein on Charlie's forehead would bulge. Then, in all likelihood, he would inform me of how irresponsible it was of us.

I have no idea what to say. I am not a very convincing liar. So, I give him an edited version of the truth.

"We were driving around sightseeing," I mumble, trying not to nibble on my bottom lip.

The ends of his mustache curl down into a frown. "What's to see out that way?" After he asks the question, his chin jerks up. His eyes narrow slightly. "Were you two visiting the National Park by any chance?"

I hide my gulping throat by giving an exaggerated head shake. "No. We were just looking around at the countryside," I insist. This isn't a lie. Edward said the meadow was _near_ the Olympic National Park - not in it.

"You know, the area around Forks really is beautiful this time of year," jumps in Alice, her cheek resting dreamily against her knuckles. "What with the flowers in bloom, the birds out building nests, the warm breezes... Yeah. It's gorgeous. Just the other morning, I was driving and saw a herd of deer grazing in a field of wildflowers. It was a sight to see. I can't _wait_ until me and the fam can go camping again. The only bad thing about it is that it's rough on your feet. I guess I'd better take some preventive actions and start working on mine before I go hiking anywhere." Her pale lips poke out musingly. "Maybe I'll start tonight. When's the last time you had a pedicure, Bella?"

My mouth moves a couple of times before anything comes out. "It's been awhile," I reply uncertainly.

"All right. Then I'll help do yours after mine. I have a nail polish that I have a feeling would look great on you. I hope you like semi opaque baby pink! It should match your skin tone perfectly," she assures with confidence. Her amber eyes dart over to Charlie, growing wide with innocence. "Do you need help with yours too?"

True fear flashes across Charlie's face, his skin fading to a tone almost as white as Alice's. You'd think that she threatened him with a gun instead of just toenail clippers.

With exceptionally rapid speed considering his main hobbies are fishing and channel surfing, he pops out of the kitchen chair and shoves it under the table. Walking backwards, he sputters out a reply in between his incoherent mumbling. "No! Uh... There's a... _something_ that I've been wanting to watch on TV. But - uh - you two go on ahead." Then he exits the kitchen as though his pants are on fire.

As soon as it's safe, Alice leans forward on her elbows and unleashes a Cheshire cat smile. "I sure know how to clear a room, don't I?"

I slump against the back of my chair, profoundly relieved that she discombobulates my father so easily. "Thanks," I reply with a shaky smile.

"Don't mention it. But I wasn't kidding about that pedicure. After you soak in the tub, I'm giving you a mani _and_ a pedi. You need one after the day you had."

"Soak in the tub?" I repeat cautiously.

"Yeah. Isn't that what you were planning on? I saw you coming home and taking a nice bubble bath."

My forehead wrinkles as my brain attempts to fathom this information. I had indeed planned on doing exactly that. I guess this is that future forecasting talent of hers coming into play. But I am slightly disturbed by one aspect of this ability.

"Are you saying that you _saw_ me taking a bath? _Naked?_" I stress in a low voice.

"Uh-huh," she nods. "But don't worry, I didn't see much. Whenever my visions show me something intimate like that, I try to distract myself in order to maintain at least _some_ privacy. Trust me, having visions of Emmett and Rose's extended sex marathons really stinks," she explains with a small frown.

My eyes squint at her, astonished by a new revelation. "Vampires can't eat. But they _can_ have sex?"

A slow grin stretches across her face. "Yep. Living for eternity without anything fun to do sure would get boring after a while."

"I guess it would," I concede in a murmur, my cheeks threatening to heat up.

We head back upstairs and part ways. I'm going to relax in a hot bath while Alice sets up shop in my bedroom. I fill the tub to almost the top with steaming water and climb in, allowing the heat to soothe my aching legs and feet. By the time the water cools, I feel like a new person.

I slip into an old t-shirt and pajama pants, brush my teeth, and return to my room. Alice has out a couple of dozen shades of nail polish and all of the tools of the manicure trade. At the moment, she sits cross-legged on the bed and reads from a fashion magazine. She asks if I prefer my fingernails to be square, almond, oval, round, or stiletto shaped. My perplexed blinking tells her that I have never contemplated this apparently important question before. She asks for me to hold up my hands and examines them closely. Once she sees that my stubby nails are very short, she decides to concentrate on strengthening them as opposed to shaping them.

"Have you done your nails yet?" I wonder as I take a seat beside her.

"Yes. All I had to do was reapply the nail polish. That's practically all I _ever_ get to do," she explains with a half-hearted smile.

"What do you mean?"

Her lips shift to the side for a few moments. "When you go from being human to _this_, your entire body experiences a bunch of changes. It erases flaws and accentuates your positive traits. Let's say you had zits all over your face as a human. Well...BOOM! They're all gone once you're a vampire. But, maybe you had thick and long eyelashes as a human, or a killer profile that made people swoon. _Those_ traits are magnified and made more beautiful than ever. It's like having a permanent makeover. Though what really sucks about it is that you're stuck with some things whether you like them or not. For example, hair doesn't grow after the change." She points up to her short hair and sighs. "I'd give anything to grow it out at least a little bit. It's been hanging down to my ears for at least eight decades. I've always wanted to do something different with it - like big curls or a sophisticated bun. But my hair isn't long enough. Sometimes Rose allows me to fix hers, although that isn't very often. She prefers doing it herself." Her eyes go from sad to twinkling in seconds. "Do you mind if I fix yours tomorrow morning? Your hair is even longer than Rosalie's."

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I think. Due to laziness and general lack of knowledge on this subject, my hair is normally styled in one of two ways - down or twisted up in a messy knot. And judging by the appraising gleam in her eye, I am going to assume that Alice knows more hairstyle techniques than I do. Plus, I feel for her. She may be a beautiful and eternally youthful supernatural being, but that doesn't mean she is incapable of wishing that she could change something about herself. Who knew that while I was coveting her graceful movements and flawless face, she evidently dreamed to have hair like mine.

"Nothing too fancy, right?" I reply cautiously.

Her face beams. "Sure! I'll do it up however you want."

Alice soon busies herself in making my nails appear less like a tomboy's - the style I have gone with for the past seventeen years. They get soaked in some liquid, their cuticles pushed back, and slathered with polish. Soon, I have ten fingers and ten toes that look better than they ever have. It's simple but feminine. Turns out that girl vampires make the best manicurists.

While my nails dry, she puts her things away. It doesn't take long before my clumsiness kicks in and an elbow accidentally knocks a nail file behind the bed. My mouth drops into a frown. Grumbling, I prepare to go after it.

"Wait! You can't do that," Alice intervenes like it's an emergency. She scrambles away from her travel case and moves to my side of the bed. "If you crawl under there, your fingers might get all dirty again. And then we'd have to spend another thirty minutes repairing the damage it caused your nails. I'll get it."

I tell her that it's unnecessary and that I can retrieve it later, but she won't hear it. I give up and move out of her way, noting that it's a tight squeeze underneath my bed. At least she's petite. She will have a much easier time crawling under there than I would.

However, she doesn't get down on her knees as I had expected. With one hand, she lifts the bed frame up on it's side as though it is as light as a pillow.

"Gee, Bella," she marvels, looking at the floor which had been hidden underneath the bed. "You sure do have a lot of junk stored under here. When's the last time you cleaned?"

"It's been awhile," I admit, slightly embarrassed by the clutter. Every summer break from the ages of five to thirteen, I would travel far from my home in Phoenix to spend two or three weeks with Charlie in Forks. And every year, he always had an assortment of secondhand toys and books to occupy me during my stay. When I outgrew the toys, they were stuffed out of sight under the bed and largely forgotten. I haven't laid eyes on that Tamagotchi toy since the day my little digital pet died for the third time in six days. No matter how hard I tried as a kid, the skull icon would appear on the black and gray screen and my pet would instantly be at knocking at death's door. I eventually took it as a warning from above to not ask Mom for that puppy I had always wanted.

She grabs her nail file from the floor and gently sets the bed back into place. I plop down on the mattress and resume watching Alice put her things away. Once she is finished with the task, she skips over and sits by me again. She's sharing her opinion on how press on fingernails should only be used under certain dire circumstances when her mouth suddenly parts open. Her eyes stare off into outer space - as though she is in a world of her own. Aware that this is another vision being received, I keep quiet and wait it out.

This vision takes a little longer for her to finish - fifteen to twenty seconds is my guess. At its completion, she breaks free from the spell and sighs with hunched shoulders. "Well, that sure was close. Carlisle had that female nomad cornered somewhere near Port Townsend, but she _still_ managed to get past him. She's a slippery thing, I'll give her that."

"Where's Port Townsend?"

"It's on the other side of the Olympic Peninsula. I recognized a couple of the landmarks they passed by during the chase. It has a few thousand more residents than Forks, so the chances for them catching her without being seen by a human is drastically reduced."

"And that would be bad?"

"Catastrophic," she divulges. "We would likely have to leave the area right away."

"Why?"

"Well..." she drags out, her mouth twisting to the side. "Humans aren't technically supposed to know about vampires. If certain individuals were to discover that Edward or you know the truth about us, we could get into trouble."

"Trouble? With who?"

"The Volturi. They're a group of vampires that enforce the rules. And rule number one is to keep our existence secret from mortals. Unless you have a really good excuse, they destroy lawbreakers right away."

"I could be the cause of your _execution_?" I emphasize, my eyebrows shooting up.

Alice places a hand on my knee and pats it. "Now don't go worrying like Edward does. As long as you two don't broadcast to the world that the Cullens are vampires, we should be fine. The Volturi live in Italy and usually leave their castle only when they absolutely have to - which figures to about once every three hundred years. They do have a few scouts roaming around, but I've never bumped into any of them in all of my years. Anyway, what with my talent, there's no way the Volturi's henchmen could ever sneak up on us. If I get an inkling that someone is coming, we'll keep you and Edward far away from harm."

"But what about you? And the others?"

She waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about us. They would never guess what we've been up to. We're masters at lying through our teeth." Her lips purse out for a moment. "Except for maybe Emmett. He has a tendency to blurt out his thoughts. So we'll make sure to keep him far away too."

A few minutes later, my fingernails are pronounced dry enough to move freely about the room. Since I haven't checked my emails since Thursday night, the first thing I do is flick on my old PC. It takes its sweet time booting up, as usual. I peek to my right to see what Alice is up to. In her hand is another fashion magazine, yet she doesn't appear to be reading from it. She sits on the bed with her legs hanging down, one foot tapping so quickly that it's almost a blur. If it goes any faster, it will drill right through the floor.

"Are you OK?" I question.

Alice switches her attention away from the spot that she had been mindlessly staring and looks at me. "Yeah. I'm just excited with all that's going on. It's difficult keeping still when I see visions of my family running around." The slight frown on her face erases suddenly. Large, optimistic eyes spread wide. "It would really help if I could find something to do to pass the time. Like cleaning up your room. You know, spring is just around the corner," she chimes.

"I don't know... Having a guest do manual labor doesn't sound right," I hesitate, glancing at the messy state of my bedroom. Other than laundry, I haven't really given it a decent cleaning since I moved in. Having Alice discover a long forgotten pb&j sandwich hiding somewhere in here might prove embarrassing.

"Aww, I don't mind! I _love_ cleaning. And I'm fantastic at organization. I can help you sort through all of that old stuff underneath your bed. Whatever you don't want anymore can be donated to charity if you don't care about it anymore." Her hands clasp together, pleading her case. "Please? I would much rather keep busy than just sit here doing nothing. I feel so useless."

I stare at her, my mind deliberating on what to do. Part of me wants to say no - it's not appropriate to have her work on something that should be my sole responsibility. Yet Alice's small pout has a larger part of me immediately throwing up my hands and saying, why not? If allowing her to clean is the secret to keeping a vampire happy, then she can reorganize this whole house for all I care.

"OK. If that's what you want..." I trail off.

"Yes! Thank you!" she exclaims, hopping up from the bed. "Do you have any empty cardboard boxes we can use?"

"Up in the attic, I think."

"Got it. I'll be right back," she replies, already walking out into the hallway. Ten seconds later, she's carrying several stacked boxes in her arms and closes the door. She drops them on the floor and immediately flips the bed on to its side. The pile of crap from my childhood is exposed again. By the time my computer is on and the email program attempts to start, we have relegated everything except a few beloved childhood books to the donation box. Even though I haven't read those books in years, I can't bear to get rid of them. So, I find a place for them on my already crowded bookshelf.

Alice points to my closet. "What condition is _that_ in?"

"It can't be too bad. I've only been in this room for a few weeks."

"True. But have you organized it? Shirts in one section, pants in another, and so forth? Also, is it arranged by fabric, color, and frequency of use?"

"Not really," I respond. I am not very good at arranging things like she is apparently. My clothes are lucky to be on hangers and not just balled up in the corner of the closet.

"Then I'll do it for you. I've been dying to see what you have in there anyway. You may not know this, but clothes are a passion of mine," she reveals with a seemingly shy smile.

"Yeah. I remember," I mumble.

Alice marches up to the closet with the swagger of a five star general, flinging the door open wide. Her pale hand snatches up a plain white blouse and closely examines it. "Very nice," she drawls speculatively. "Silk Dupioni. That's a keeper," she remarks as she sets it on my rocking chair.

I leave her to rummage through the closet while I tackle my emails. Three of them are spam, which I send straight to the trash. The remaining emails are all from Mom. I read from oldest to newest, starting from Friday night.

_ReneeDwyer04 - Guess what, sweetie? Phil is being considered for a COACHING position in Jacksonville! Isn't it exciting? No more living from our suitcases! We're going house hunting tomorrow. What color do you want your room to be? Xoxo Mom_

I frown at the message. I have no desire to move across the country again. For better or worse, Forks is my home now. I'm happy for Mom, though. Moving like gypsies every few days from upscale hotel to budget motel is a pain, I'm sure. I really hope Phil gets the job. Mom needs the stability of living in a house.

The next email was sent five minutes after her first one.

_ReneeDwyer04 - I forgot to ask, but when can I expect to see a photo of Edward? It's been almost a week since you promised that you would send me one. Doris the night clerk is getting impatient. _

I have the urge to scratch my head while staring confusedly at the computer screen. Who in the heck is Doris? I guess she is yet another stranger Mom has struck an instant friendship with. It's great that she can make friends so easily, though her tendency to overshare has gotten out of hand.

Her third email is from early Saturday afternoon.

_ReneeDwyer04 - You haven't said anything back yet, honey. Do you not have enough money for a camera and that's why you are avoiding me? If that's the trouble, I'll send some right away. Did you know that they sell disposable ones at most drug stores? You can invite Edward to drive you to Walgreens, buy a camera, take his picture in the parking lot, and walk right back in for them to process it. Isn't that convenient? Let me know what you think. Hugs and kisses, Mom._

My mouse arrow clicks the last email, sent only an hour ago.

_ReneeDwyer04 - Why haven't you messaged me back? Where are you? Are you OK? If I don't hear from you by tomorrow morning, I'm calling the hospital in Forks. _

A heavy sigh slips from my lips. Just because I haven't checked my emails for a couple of days, Mom assumes the worst...

"What's wrong with you?" Alice asks from across the room. "You sound like someone who just accidentally squirted yellow mustard all over your favorite outfit."

I smile a little and swivel around in the desk chair. Alice has an old pair of slacks of mine and is rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "It's just my mom. She sent a few emails bugging me about something I haven't done yet."

Her eyes flick up from her examination. "Oh. You mean the picture thing."

I do a double take and stare at her. I haven't mentioned Mom's picture demand to a soul. It's going to be hard adjusting to Alice's clairvoyance.

My tongue swipes across my lip. "Umm. Yeah. She's kind of upset that I haven't sent her one yet."

Alice carefully places the pants on the rocking chair and walks over to my nightstand. Grabbing her cellphone, she starts pressing buttons at lightning fast speed. "What's your email?"

"Why?" I ask, tilting my face warily. I hope she isn't planning on signing me up with a bunch of fashion blog alerts or something similarly useless. I get enough unwanted spam as it is.

"I have a few photos of Edward stored on my phone. I'll send them to your address. Then you can pick which ones you want to forward to your mom. Is that OK?"

I blink my eyes a few times. Her precognition talent is unnerving, but she can be a godsend sometimes, too.

"Yes. That sounds perfect," I answer.

I tell her my email address and only have to wait a couple of minutes before my pitifully slow computer dings with a new alert. Opening Alice's email, I am delighted to see several attachments. A smile rises on my face the second I see ruffled bronze hair on my computer screen. The pictures Alice sent of Edward range from crooked grins to annoyed glares. I love them all. However, the last one stuns me speechless.

The image is one that I had no idea existed. Edward sits at his piano in the Cullen living room. I am seated to his right, my full attention centered on him. It occurs to me that this was from the day he drove me to his home for the first time.

"That's my favorite," confesses Alice, standing a foot behind me.

I tear my eyes away from the image. My face angles up to meet her gaze. My lips move, yet nothing intelligible comes out. "How did..." I falter, waving a hand towards the computer.

Beaming down at me, her chest vibrates with silent laughter. "How did I snap that picture without you knowing? That's easy. You both were so lost in each other in that moment that a marching band could have stomped through our living room and neither one of you would have known."

Like a magnet, my attention snaps back to the picture. This third-person viewpoint makes me feel like I am seeing myself for the first time since my move to Forks. Brown eyes wide and locked on Edward's face. Pink cheeks set against my otherwise creamy white skin. I had "I'm in love" written all over me. Yet, I am more surprised by what I see about Edward that I did not notice that day. As he played the piano, his body leaned slightly towards me. The hypnotic green of his eyes had been gentle, open, and warm. And his smile wasn't merely friendly - as I had once assumed.

In hindsight, that day I tortured myself into believing that he was taking Lauren Mallory to that dumb spring dance was ridiculous. Here he was telling me all along how he felt. And I had been too ignorant to see it.

"Wow," I breathe in awe.

"You've got that right," giggles Alice. A chalk-white finger reaches for the monitor, landing on Edward's smiling face. "You see that? Before you moved here, it was rare to see him crack a smile. He'd hole up in his bedroom like a hermit instead of actually doing something worthwhile. If it wasn't for school, he would have never left the house."

"Why?" I frown.

Alice's mouth cocks into a smirk. "Because he is the most pigheaded boy ever to be born. He couldn't accept that this was his life now. He believed that he didn't belong here. There was many a day that he beat himself up with survivors guilt, thinking that had he stayed in 1918, he could have helped his parents in some way. Carlisle treated them at the hospital back then, you know. He has little doubt what would have happened if Edward had stayed. Edward would have probably caught the Spanish Flu and died - just as his parents had."

My head dips down sadly. "That's exactly what I thought when he told me this afternoon."

She sagely nods. "Yeah, and Edward knew that, too. But that didn't stop the self-flagellation for a while." During a pause, an eyebrow slowly cocks up. "Speaking of this afternoon, Bella, I found some of the conversation you two had simply _fascinating_," she stresses. "Are you planning on opening up a private eye firm here in Forks?"

My knee bounces nervously under the desk. "Oh... You had a vision of us in the meadow?" I squeak nervously. I never stopped to think that she could have heard me confessing to Edward about my research into their origins.

"Yes. A couple."

No longer able to look at her straight on, my eyes wander to the floor. "Sorry about the snooping thing," I mumble.

I hear a tiny laugh. "Don't be sorry. I was amazed that you were able to discover so much on your own. And then you kept me from knowing, too! I'm actually very impressed. Now I understand why I saw you on the computer all day long last Sunday," she teases.

Glancing up at her friendly smile, my body relaxes and stops shaking. "You're not mad?"

"Nah. You actually did us a favor. Jasper is in charge of keeping our internet footprint to a minimum. Whenever one of our names pops up in a search, he works to erase it. Thanks to you, he discovered an old Hale family photograph on one of those genealogical websites. It's from 1930 and had Rose in it! Since she is going by her full human name right now, you can see how that could be a problem."

"Why wasn't he in it too?"

Alice's brow furrows for a moment before a look of realization crosses her face. "He wasn't born a Hale, Bella. He and Rose are only playing the role of twins while we live in Forks, but otherwise they aren't related. That's how it goes for all of us. Each time we move to a new place, our roles change. Through the years, I've been Emmett's little sister, Esme's stepdaughter from a prior marriage, Carlisle's destitute cousin-"

As soon as those words leave her lips, her head cocks to the side. Yellow eyes glaze over for roughly two seconds. I'm expecting her to come out of the trance with news of how the hunt for that vampire woman is faring, but that isn't what happens.

My eyes blink exactly one time. And during that brief interval, Alice has retrieved her large case of manicure supplies, dragged a small stool over to where I sit, and is miming painting my nails again with a dry nail polish brush.

I open my mouth to ask what's going on, but she cuts me off. "Shh," she breathes out, peeking slyly up from my hand.

Moments later, there is a soft knock from across the room. Alice's head tips towards the door, silently encouraging me to acknowledge my father's presence.

"Yeah. Come in," I answer.

The knob twists and the door pops open. Charlie sticks his head in. His gaze lands on what looks like Alice diligently working on my fingernails. "I was -uh - just checking in. Everything all right?" he asks.

"Sure, Dad. We're fine."

He grunts in typical fashion. "That's good. I'll be, umm, heading to bed in a minute."

"Oh. Well. Goodnight then," I say, attempting to hurry him along.

"Goodnight," he parrots. I wait for him to back away and close the door. But the doesn't. He just stands there, eyes glued to Alice and me. "Uh..." he drawls, his mustache shimmying from right to left. "Remember, it's a school day tomorrow. Don't stay up too late."

"We won't," I reply.

Alice's face lifts, momentarily halting her "work" on my manicure. "Don't worry. I'll make sure Bella gets her beauty rest as soon as I'm done with her nails," she smoothly lies.

"OK," he responds, his eyes never leaving our faces. They keep flicking from me, to Alice, and back again. It's as if Charlie doesn't quite buy our story. And if that's the case, he would be one hundred percent correct. There's no way that I will sleep tonight unless I know that there are no more vampires roaming around that want to eat my new boyfriend.

Roughly ten silent, awkward seconds pass.

"Hey, Chief Swan," hums Alice, her head tilted ruminatively a few degrees. "I noticed during dinner that your hands are a little dry. I have some lavender scented moisturizer and cuticle softening oil in my case. Oh! And a brand new pumice stone to remove those callouses, too. I guarantee that your hands will feel as soft as a baby's bottom after I'm through with them."

Charlie's dark curls whip violently from side to side. "That sounds like too much trouble," he says in a rush of breath.

"It's no trouble at all! Really!" she cries. "I'm thinking of becoming a cosmetologist after graduation. It's been _ages_ since I've worked on a male's manicure. Just because I once applied tiny heart decals to Jasper's fingernails, the other guys won't let me near their hands! I tried explaining that I need the practice, but no one will listen," she finishes in a clearly visible pout.

"Thanks, but I think I can manage it myself," he slurs, backing away. "I'll see you two in the morning." The door clicks shut and he's gone.

With her stage act no longer required, Alice jumps up and tosses her nail props back into her case. "Your dad's sweet," she smiles. "He reminds me of Errol Flynn, but shyer - and with a thicker mustache."

While she tackles the closet once more, I recall that I have an email to write up for Mom. My fingers stretch and flex a few times before I type.

_87BSwan- There's no need to call the hospital. I promise that I am fine - just have been busy lately and haven't checked my email in a while. That's great about Phil's new job prospect. Jacksonville sounds like a great fit for you both. But I'm staying in Forks, Mom. I've made some good friends, and I like my school too much to up and move away again so soon. There's no need to send me money either. Edward's sister is staying over for the night and sent a few pictures of him that should meet your list of demands. I hope you and Doris the night clerk will be satisfied. Love, Bella_

I close the email program and find Edward's 1910 census document staring at me from its location on the desktop. The horrifying possibility that someone could break into my room and come across evidence of Edward's secret hits me between the eyes. I need to get rid of it. Right now. I watched _E.T. The Extraterrestrial_ before. If the government knew about him, they would send a fleet of agents to Forks and then throw him into a laboratory to study for the remainder of his life.

Immediately, I delete the census image from the computer. Also, I tear up into tiny pieces the list where I had written down all of my suspicions concerning him and the Cullens. With all evidence gone that could prove that they are not what they seem, I shut down the computer and crawl into bed.

Alice encourages me to read and relax while she works to organize my closet. I try to convince her to come and rest too, but she laughs it off - insisting that creatures such as herself don't get tired. Approximately a quarter of an hour later, I'm getting interested in one of the books I borrowed from the Cullen library when I hear a gasp. Alice pulls a blue checkered-pattern skirt off a hanger and holds it up to the light. A bright grin spreads across her face. "Oooooooo. This is cute, Bella. Why haven't you worn this to school yet? Old Navy, 2003 spring collection. Also comes in gray, purple, red, and black."

"How do you know all that?" I wonder, scrunching my forehead.

She taps the side of her head with a finger. "Vampires have photographic memories. Everything I have seen, done, or read about is up there. If you want, I can recite the Bloomingdale's catalog from 1925 and all the way up to their latest edition. Although, my personal favorite is the summer of '66. It had bikinis _and_ miniskirts together for the first time. But you're avoiding my question. Why haven't I seen you in this before, hmm?"

"Because my legs are boney, untanned, and hideous?" I counter in question form. In a moment of delirium, Mom thought I would look good in something that reaches well above my knobby kneecaps and bought that skirt for me. Since I did not want to hurt her feelings, I hid it in my closet until she forgot all about it. Mom's forgetful tendency is convenient sometimes.

Alice's mouth pinches together. "No they are not. You are much too critical of yourself. Mine are _a lot_ paler. And yours are so much longer. They look fantastic. Edward seems to think so, too."

I have only worn jeans and sweatpants since arriving in Forks. I smile condescendingly, calling her bluff. "Edward has never even seen my bare legs."

_"But he will_," she emphasizes, eyeing me seriously.

That smile of mine disappears. "He will?" I croak. I keep forgetting about her "special talent".

"Yep," she says, her mouth popping on the last syllable.

"W-w-when?" I stammer.

"Soon."

My lungs burn now that hyperventilation mode has been triggered. What has gotten into me? Or, more specifically, what _will_? Did I blow caution to the wind and lose my mind? Edward and I are new at this relationship stuff. I don't think Not So Distant Future Bella is ready to rush into bed with him yet. And...oh no. What if it's not even a _bed_ we rush into? What if it's the backseat of his car where I lose my virginity? With the gear shift poking me in the back? That couldn't be comfortable. Though, on the bright side, at least he wouldn't be able to see much of my naked body. The backseat is pretty cramped...

Piercing through my frenzied thoughts, I hear Alice's laughter. "I was referring to Edward seeing your bare legs while wearing a dress, Bella - _not_ what you're thinking."

I suck in a much needed breath and release it, my cheeks puffing out from the relief. "Oh. Thank God," I mumble with closed eyes. Upon reopening them, I meet Alice's gaze. "So...how did you know...?"

"In around thirty more seconds, you would have plummeted into a panic and started pacing the room - all while murmuring something about virgins and Volvos. Really, Bella. Give him more credit than that. Edward would _never_ be so inconsiderate. He will be a perfect gentleman. I promise." She then tugs out an old jacket of mine from the closet and studies it as though it is an artifact from ancient Babylonia.

As I take comfort in what she said, the much needed relief quickly mixes in with suspicion. I have a hunch that her "promise" is more than just her intuition at work.

"Alice?" I say in almost a whisper.

All I can see is her butt sticking out of my closet as she digs through clothes. "Hmm?"

"H-have you seen visions of me and Edward together?"

"Sure. Loads of them," answers her muffled voice.

"Like...?" I coax.

Abandoning the archeological excavation of my closet, she rises slowly to her feet and looks my way. One golden eye squints musingly for several beats. "Are you _sure_ you want me to tell you?"

A heavy dose of worry overloads my senses. Her psychic ability reputedly goes far beyond the short-term - like what will happen tomorrow or next week. What if she sees _everything_? What if my entire life story is already up in that head of hers? Am I really ready to know what the future has in store for me? Or Edward? Or me AND Edward?

"I... don't know," I respond, my fingers wiggling in my lap.

She nods her head and resumes her concentration on the closet. "That's what I thought. It's OK. I won't say a thing unless I absolutely have to do it. It's more fun keeping everything a surprise. If it had been up to me, I would have never told a soul a single thing about what I saw. At the time I had no choice - although it did almost ruin everything-"

She abruptly stops speaking, her nose wrinkling down at the shirt she just pulled off a hanger. "Ugh... Polyester. Do you realize how unfriendly this fabric is to your skin? It doesn't breathe! Synthetic materials will have no place in your wardrobe," she proclaims, tossing it into a cardboard box like it's garbage.

"Excuse me," I interrupt. "What do you mean that you had no choice? What are you talking about?"

Her flawless face squishes together as though in pain. "Well... I think I should give you some context first before I rat anyone out," she says hesitantly. Then, all appearances of uncertainty vanish. Her posture straightens, her gaze focused solely upon me. "I saw you coming," she announces.

My brows lower themselves. "What?"

"I _saw_ you," she repeats, putting stress on the second word. "In Phoenix. It was late last year - right before New Year's - when I began seeing your face in my visions. You were at a crossroads in your life. One moment you would think about moving in with your father. The next, you contemplated staying in Phoenix. Your indecisiveness was playing havoc with my visions. It was like trying to peer through muddy water. I'd get brief glimpses of you here in Forks sometimes. But then you'd change your mind and you would disappear again. It wasn't until early January that my visions solidified."

She glides closer to where I sit - maintaining eye contact all the while. "I know Edward touched a little on how he once believed he didn't belong here, but I don't think you understand the extent of it, Bella. He had a lamebrain theory that his existence put a strain on this new time period he was brought into - as if it wouldn't be able to deal with him _plus_ the several billion other people already living in this world. For example, I tried to push him into signing up with the Track team but he refused. He told me that it wouldn't be fair to 'steal a spot' away from another person just so he would have something to do after school," she explains with an eye roll.

"And you could forget about trying to convince him to go do something fun on the weekends!" she continues in a huff, crossing her arms. "He preferred hiding in his room over hanging out with kids his own age. I know some of it has to do with him not enjoying the company of certain people, but he took it well beyond what was healthy. Just because he was born over a hundred years ago, he never felt very comfortable around the other teenagers that live around here. He liked to refer to himself as a 'freak' even though he is no such thing. Other than showing up to school, he stayed out of human society as much as possible. _My_ life was more well-rounded and gratifying than his - and I'm not even human!"

Her mouth quivers, the look of irritation fading into frown. "The whole family was worried sick about him. We all tried to encourage him to be more active, but it was like talking to a brick wall. You know there's something wrong when _vampires_ are telling a seventeen year old boy to go out and socialize. Yet all he wanted to do was listen to music or occasionally play chess downstairs. I had hoped that he would realize that his past doesn't matter - it's his future that counts. After all, he was sent _here_. And I don't believe in accidents. But, all I saw for his future was one of loathing and self-isolation. He...stopped living. I saw no hope in sight."

My vision blurs, overwhelmed by how lonely Edward must have felt. Alice zips over to a box of tissues sitting on the nightstand and hands me one without saying a word. I take it and dab at the corners of my eyes, grateful that I could get rid of the teardrops before they could stream down my cheeks.

"So that's what it was like living with him up until January," she resumes, now sitting at the end of the bed. "That's when his future began changing. I saw visions of him actually leaving the house other than to just go to school or the occasional trip to Seattle. I saw him smiling and no longer moping up in his bedroom. He was like a different person in my visions." Her eyes stare piercingly. "I saw him with _you_."

Finding it hard to stay still, my chest leans forward until it hits my bent knees. My arms wrap around them. "So... are you saying that you've known all along what would happen? Between Edward and me?"

Her lips press together, twisting to the side. "Yes and no," she answers after a moment of thought. "My visions aren't always set in stone, you know. All it takes is for someone to change their mind and everything gets shot to hell. But, yes. I did have visions of the both of you coming together at some point very soon. I didn't tell anyone about it - not even Jasper. After you moved to Forks, I even kept my interactions with you a secret for as long as I could."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want Mr. Worry-Wart to start stressing out about it," she replies, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "I figured that things between the two of you would progress naturally without me needing to interfere very much. And that's likely how it would have played out too - if only it hadn't been for that stupid van that almost ruined everything!"

"The car accident?"

"Yeah. That day really blindsided me," she confesses after a rough sigh. "It's like this, Bella. Out of everyone in our family, Rosalie is the one that regrets the most not being able to live out her human life. It's a sore point. She may love Emmett with all of her heart and cares deeply for the family, but living a vampire's life is difficult for her to accept. So when she saw that Edward was almost hit by Tyler's van, she had a nuclear meltdown once we got back home. She felt that Edward risked his life unnecessarily 'cause - you know - he stayed to help you get out of the way instead of just looking out for himself."

My eyes blink several times in succession as I absorb this information. Now I understand why Rosalie kept glaring at me earlier. "Oh. So that's why she _hates_ me," I realize, barely moving my lips.

Alice's head shakes in the negative. "No. She doesn't hate you. I'm sure she was just upset that she had to run with you tonight. Rose worries a lot about the Volturi and has always been especially cautious about not revealing her true nature to a human. Trust me, back a few months ago, she wasn't happy when Edward found out about us either. But she's used to it nowadays. She might occasionally throw out an insult to annoy Edward, but in reality, she is just as protective of him as the rest of us. It just takes a little time for her to warm up to new faces. When we first joined the Cullen family back in 1950, she didn't trust Jasper or me at all. It was three months before she stopped hissing whenever she saw me walk into a room."

"_Hissing_? Like a cat?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah, but it was more like a mountain lion's than your average house cat. Now she only hisses if I'm getting on her nerves. So, that figures to about once a week," explains Alice breezily. "But getting back to the story, after the accident in the parking lot, we arrived home and Rose called a family meeting. Then she went off on Edward _big time_. She yelled that his responsibility was to protect himself - not running around rescuing strangers while playing hero and blah, blah, blah. No one backed her up though - not even Emmett. I saw that she was gearing up to another level of anger when I decided that I had to put a stop to it. So...I told them about what I had seen." One corner of Alice's mouth curls up into a smirk. "That sure did shut Rosalie up fast."

A thousand thoughts run through my head at once. Yet the one that holds center stage has me awe-stricken.

"Are you saying that Edward knew what would happen between us almost this whole time?" I press, my eyes growing large. "That was a month and a half ago!"

Her head tilts back as she giggles, her arm encircling her waist in an attempt to contain it. "No! It's not that simple. Let me finish explaining and then maybe you'll understand," she wheezes, trying to settle down. Taking its time, the amusement fades until her voice grows calm once again. "First of all, I only told them that I had previously seen visions of you and Edward together. I never gave specifics. But that didn't matter much to Edward that afternoon. He threw a fit regardless. Then, he buried his head even deeper into the sand and refused to believe a word I said. Aligning with his twin beliefs of never having fun or doing anything fulfilling, he had an iron-clad 'no dating or romantic relationship' rule that he had set into place. His plan was to be remain single and cloistered until the day he died. He quote, unquote 'would never _drag' _someone into his life here - as if being with him would be a death sentence for some poor girl," scoffs Alice with an arched eyebrow.

The conversation abruptly halts for a short time, her eyelids drooping sadly. "My visions went haywire for the next twelve hours. The progress I had seen for his future life vanished. They went back to him locking himself away from the world. Since he was aware that there was a possibility that the two of you might come together, he made it his mission to see that it would never happen. And in the name of keeping you safe from supposedly useless antique curios from the past, he planned on keeping his distance from then on out."

She huffs a single laugh, her face turning up into a smile. "It was frustrating to see him being so stubborn, but it didn't take long for my visions to get back on the right track. All it took was for Mike Newton to drool over you one good time. Then Edward's gentlemanly side took over and decided that he had to protect you from Mike's raging hormones," she reveals with a teasing wink.

My mouth gapes open wide enough to stuff my fist inside of it.

"Oh, Bella," she giggles at my shocked expression. "Do you see now what I had to put up with for all of those weeks? In the span of twenty-four hours, he went from saying that he would keep his distance from you to suddenly saying that he was your friend and was only looking out for your welfare. I knew right then that his plan was crumbling already, but - of course -_ I _never told him that. So, I just sat back and waited - all while watching him head to your house every day and seeing how he generally wanted to be near you every waking moment. I was thrilled. But my God! _Was it frustrating_! I swear, for a while I was seriously considering just locking the both of you in a room until you guys worked things out. It took him a _month_ before he acknowledged that a mere friend doesn't usually want to rip a limb off from their female friend's suitors and beat them over the head with it."

My nose crinkles at the word _suitors_. "Mike was nothing more than a friend with a little crush on me - which I _never_ encouraged," I counter.

Alice's lips press together in an effort not to smile. "I know. So did Edward - but his jealous streak didn't get the notification evidently."

My teeth drag in my bottom lip and chew. "So, what you're saying is that the only reason things worked out the way that it did was because Edward was jealous that Mike gave me attention," I conclude.

Her head shakes quickly back and forth. "No. I'm saying that it was inevitable. It may have taken longer than I would have liked, but things would have ultimately turned out the same in the end. I am a strong believer in fate. It's true that I may not have seen you coming before January. However, there isn't a shadow of doubt within me that says that this wasn't meant to be. I just didn't forecast it sooner."

Her hard, ice cold hand gently comes to rest on the top of mine. Golden eyes have lost all signs of amusement. "Don't let him know that I told you this, but Edward needs you to keep him on the right track - or else he will fall right back into his old habit of feeling sorry for himself. Push him out of his comfort zone. Encourage him to try new things. And for heaven's sakes, get the boy to think about what he wants to do with the rest of his life!" she pleads, hinting at the stress she has been under for the past nine months. "Are you up for the challenge?" she questions, both brows raising.

My smile is weak but genuine. "Yes," I answer simply.

She matches my smile and raises it to a bright grin. "Great! With you, me, _and_ Esme on his tail, he won't have any choice but to comply."

Happily skipping across the room, she takes a nose dive back into the closet. I notice that she appears to love every article of clothing my mother ever purchased for me - especially the ones that I am too intimidated to wear since they expose more skin than I am comfortable with showing off.

Out of nowhere, her eyes become glassy and immobile. Her breathing halts entirely. Another vision briefly occupies her attention. Twenty or so seconds pass this way. At the end of it, she inhales a large puff of air. Her face lights up into a dreamy, faraway smile. "Finally! Took long enough!" she exclaims triumphantly.

I drop my book to my lap, excitement overwhelming me. "What happened? Did they catch that female vampire?"

Her smile drops sheepishly. "Oh. Sorry. But, no. I just saw that Jasper decided what he'll get me for our anniversary. It's a cute little emerald ring he saw on Tiffany's website. I think he's been trying to hide it by constantly changing his mind for the past couple of weeks. But he slipped up just now. I'll have to pretend that it's still a surprise come next month..."

"May I ask a question?" I break in.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"It's about the visions you have. How does it work?"

Her arms cross while a finger taps her chin, appearing to deliberate on how to respond. "You know how breaking news interrupts the TV program you were watching and there's nothing you can do about it until it's over? Well, that's kinda what it's like. Sometimes I can multitask and experience a vision while also conducting a conversation. Other times they take over me completely and I can't do a thing until it's done. The visions range in importance - from tiny hints on what Ms. Goff will assign for homework tomorrow, to a possible danger that's coming on the horizon."

A hand covers her mouth as she laughs, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I was bored once during the 1990s. Carlisle inspired me to do something which would be both fun and helpful. He works hard to keep the humans happy and healthy, and it made me want to do something like that, too. So I joined a psychic hotline for a while."

"One of those 1-800 fortune telling scams?" I gasp.

"Uh-huh. But obviously, I'm no scam. I'm the real deal. I don't have to _pretend_ to be psychic. I figured that I could help a few humans by giving them accurate information. I warned the people who called of upcoming tax audits, deaths in the family, job loss, or whatever was in store for them in the near future. But not a one wanted to hear it. They wanted me to tell them that they were going to win the lottery, or that they would meet the guy or girl of their dreams come next week. They didn't want the truth - they only wanted their fantasies read back to them."

"I'm guessing the job didn't last for long?"

"You got that right. I got fed up after a month. My boss wanted me to start reading from a script since I wasn't giving farcical fortunes like the callers wanted. Well, that wasn't going to happen. I couldn't lie and give people false hope just so I could help my employer snatch more money from their pockets! So I told Miss Cleo that she could stuff her turban where the sun don't shine and walked straight out the door."

I burst into laughter, shoving my face into a pillow as to not wake Charlie up. I bet Miss Cleo never predicted being told off by a vampire the size of a middle schooler.

"Oh!" cries Alice.

I lift my face up to find her staring vacantly at the floor, a blouse clutched in her fingers. This vision takes a short while to complete.

Her stiff posture relaxes. Her eyes briefly snap shut. Then she grins. "Ding dong, the witch is dead," she singsongs.

My heart flutters. "It's over?" I press without taking a breath.

Alice meets my gaze and nods. "That female nomad is currently being fed to a bonfire courtesy of Emmett Cullen. That's the only way you can destroy a vampire."

"So Edward is safe now?" I confirm.

"Completely. I don't foresee a bit of trouble out of the third nomad that was in their coven. He didn't strike me as much of a hell raiser. Anyway, he's already in another state. Edward will be fine."

My lungs inhale air greedily, helping to alleviate my anxiety. I even crack a smile. "Thank goodness Emmett is so strong. I guess that vampire didn't have much of a chance after he got a hold of her."

With sparkling eyes, Alice shakes her head. "Oh, no, Bella. You're wrong. It wasn't Emmett that caught her. Rose did it."

"Rosalie?" I repeat.

"Yeah. It was pretty awesome, too. She ripped that nomad's head clean off before anyone knew what was happening. Being fueled by both anger and revenge put her far ahead of everyone else in terms of ferocity."

My head moves up and down as I think. "I'd imagine so. That vampire and her mate caused a lot of trouble tonight."

"Umm. Yeah. That has a little to do with it, but - uh - she has another reason to be upset tonight too. Remember?"

I'm confused for a while until I recall that there is a person Rosalie dislikes in addition to savage female vampires. _Me_. I'm the mortal who shouldn't have seen her superhuman abilities.

"Oh..."

Alice's eyes meet mine, staring seriously. "Don't worry about it, Bella. Rose won't be angry forever. She'll stomp around the house for a while, as usual, and be over it in no time. You'll see."

I nod and give a fake smile, acting as though I agree. However, in my mind, I am contemplating on how common it is for a girl my age to draw up a last will. Having a legit supernatural being pissed at you can't be a harbinger of good things to come.

Alice jumps back to dealing with the piles of clothes strewn around the closet. She's complaining at how metal hangers should be outlawed since they leave indentations on your clothes when her phone rings.

"Hello," she greets into the phone. Looking over at me, she mouths "Edward".

A real smile creeps back onto my face. He's safe and sound at his house, and I'll be seeing him tomorrow. This night couldn't end any better.

Snapping out of my happy daze, I lean forward and listen closely to Alice's end of the conversation.

"I already know. I saw it. Rose looked _so_ mad. She'll be _thrilled_ when she finds out that Bella knows exactly what we are," she says, arching an eyebrow. Growing quiet for a short time, she shakes her head. "Nah. She'll get over it. Eventually... Sure." Her eyes dart back to the bed, a sly smirk aimed my way. "Bella! Edward _wants_ you!" she croons, putting stress on the word.

My cheeks erupt in flames but I manage to not die of embarrassment. I take the phone and clear my throat before I answer. "Hey."

"_I wanted to let you know that they caught that nomad. We should be OK now,_" Edward says through the tiny speaker.

"I know. Alice told me. I'm glad we can finally relax."

"_Me, too_." A gap in the conversation occurs and his relief changes to something else. "_I miss you_," he purrs.

I feel all warm and fuzzy inside, making my lips curve upwards at how just three words can affect me so thoroughly. "I miss you," I respond back.

By chance, I notice a movement in my peripheral vision. It's fast - like a beam of light flashing by. My eyes instinctively flick to their right. In the few moments I have been occupied on the phone, someone has been very busy. I stare unblinking at what I see.

"Edward?" I breathe in a bewildered tone.

"_Yes, love?_" he replies smoothly.

Even though I am aware that she can hear every word, I can't stop myself from covering my mouth as I covertly speak into the phone. "Alice said that she would do a little spring cleaning around my room while I read. Now half of my clothes are in a cardboard box, including my sweats. Should I be worried?"

"_Alice!_" bellows Edward.

Across the room, the stack of clothes in Alice's arms falls back into a chair. With a roll of her eyes, she zips over to me and takes the phone from my outstretched hand.

"What?" she huffs to Edward. Her brows slant irritably. "I was not! All I was doing was sorting through her clothes. Half of them are obsolete now that it's practically spring! I was putting them into boxes for storage until it's cold again. Bella needs the extra closet space!" One hand falls to her hip. "Fine! I'll put them back. But it'll be _your_ fault when we don't have enough room to add her new summer wardrobe, Edward. Just remember that!" she snaps before ending the call.

She glowers at the phone for a moment, sticking her tongue out for good measure. Catching my eye, the look of annoyance slips away. "He gets so pissy sometimes over the _smallest_ things. Hopefully you can combat that problem too."

**00000000000000000000**

I sleep decently considering that there's a blood-drinker in the house. Alice assured me before going to bed that she would keep herself busy and out of trouble. Strangely, she also promised that she wouldn't stare at me while I slept. This was comforting, yet also worrying that she would even think to bring it up.

When my eyelids reopen after a night of dreaming, I find Alice curled up in my rocking chair with a book. Upon seeing me awake, she throws it down and zooms over to her makeup bag to retrieve a curling iron and hairbrush. I inform her that I require a bathroom break before giving her access to styling my hair today.

I return to my bedroom to find that a beauty shop has sprung up in my absence - the only item missing is one of those hair drying chairs that usually sit along a far wall. My desk has turned into a makeshift vanity, cluttered with various hair and skin care products that I have never before laid eyes on.

"What's all this for?" I sputter.

"It's for your new beauty routine, silly!" she grins. "First we'll ready the palette by hydrating your face with this terrific fruit enzyme mask. Then, while that's working its magic, I'll trim an inch or two off the front of your hair to give you a bit more volume. Layers are very popular right now, you know. Ooooo! Can't forget the tweezers! I noticed that you have a couple of stray hairs out of place around your eyebrows. After a good pull, I promise it'll be over in a jiffy."

I blink rapidly with furrowed forehead, swamped mentally by what she had planned for this morning. "I thought you were going to braid my hair or something simple like that."

"Yeah. And layers are _simple_," she emphasizes. Patting the chair in front of herself, she adds, "Come on, slowpoke! We have a lot of work to do before school starts."

I stare at the scissors in her hand with cautious eyes. My head rocks from side to side before I am aware of it. "No."

The smile on Alice's face slackens. "No?"

"No," I confirm.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. No hair cutting."

Slim shoulders sag in defeat. "OK. I'll just brush your hair and give it a wavy effect. Is that all right with you?"

I give it a moments thought, examining it for any hidden traps. "Yeah. That sounds fine."

Her smile returns. "And the face mask is still on, right?"

The corners of my mouth frown in response.

Taking that as my answer, she sighs. "Some other time then," she mumbles sadly, putting most of her beauty products away.

When she isn't attempting to give a full body makeover, Alice is skilled at making me look better by changing little things about myself. A few added curls make my hair appear fuller. Wearing a shirt and slacks combo that I would never ordinarily think about gives my body the illusion of curves. She even convinces me to add a pair of earrings today - something I rarely do even though my ears are pierced. Once the tiny silver studs are in place, she gazes enviously and reveals that she is limited to clip-ons.

I notice that my bed hasn't been made yet, so I move her suitcase off and drop it down to the floor. All movements cease as I weigh the suitcase in my hand. It seems awfully light considering the amount of things she brought over last night.

"Alice? Why haven't you packed yet?" I wonder aloud.

She's brushing her hair while studying her reflection in the mirror. "I did. All of my stuff is put away."

Following a hunch, I walk over to the chest of drawers and yank it open. The bottom drawer that she crammed with clothing remains filled to the brim.

"But your things are still in here," I point out.

"Those aren't mine. They're yours."

My head whips in her direction. "What? No! You can't give me your clothes!"

"But I just told you," she pouts in defense. "They were never mine. I bought them for you a few weeks back and have been itching to deliver them ever since. I've got more at the house that you can pick up at your convenience."

My fingers rub at my eyes, wishing I could crawl back to bed. "No. Return them, please."

"Why?" she bleats at high pitch. "You haven't even seen them yet! They will be _gorgeous_ on you."

"I don't feel comfortable enough to allow someone I just met to buy my bras, Alice."

"There's more than that in there! There's sleepwear, too."

I gather up the clothes and stuff them back into her suitcase. "Thanks for the thought, but I can't keep any of this stuff," I remark. Based on the designer labels I saw, I'm guessing Charlie and I could eat like kings for well over a month on what it took for Alice to buy all those silky undergarments.

"Fine," she sniffs, nose up in the air. "If that's how you feel, I'll take them back home. But mark my words, one day you'll let me buy stuff and clothe you just like everybody else."

I zip up the suitcase and abruptly pause in place. "You dress everyone in your group?"

"I have to - otherwise chaos would ensue and I would have five vampires plus Edward trying to wear outfits that went out of style decades ago. For months whenever I had to go out of town, I had horrific visions of Edward wearing a suit and bowtie to Forks High. Thanks to my foresight, that never happened. One time I had to phone him and threaten to slip Jessica Stanley a 'love note' written in his handwriting if he dared to show up to school like that." She pauses and her body shudders uncontrollably. "And you don't even _want_ to know what Emmett would put on himself if given half a chance. He makes the cast of_ Hee-Haw_ look like New York sophisticates."

We head downstairs soon after and wander to the kitchen. Charlie munches on scrambled eggs and bacon while skimming through the morning newspaper. I'm surprised to find that he made enough for all three of us. Alice thanks him profusely and slips into a chair. While I nibble at my food, she mostly chats while only occasionally pantomiming chewing up her breakfast. When Charlie stands up to refill his coffee mug, two slices of bacon fall on my plate from out of nowhere. I glance at Alice and catch her in a wink. More than half of the food on her plate has disappeared. I shrug and eat what she tossed over. I'm not crazy enough to turn my nose up at free bacon. If I knew where she hid her scrambled eggs, I'd probably eat that too.

I'm almost finished eating when Charlie says his goodbyes and heads to work. Not much more than a couple of minutes later, Alice tugs my shirt sleeve and excitedly pulls me to the front door. A familiar black Jeep stops at the curve. A tall boy with messy hair and crooked smile emerges from the backseat, walking over to where I stand and scooping me up into his arms.

"You're alive," Edward teases into my ear. "You survived a night with the pint-sized monster."

"Ha!" Alice cackles sarcastically nearby. "You say that now, but just wait till you see how great I helped make her look today. If you'd stop smothering her face into your chest, maybe you'd appreciate it."

"Bella is beautiful every day - with or without your assistance," he retorts, squeezing me tighter.

"Aww," a loud voice booms. My head turns to find the ghost-white face of Emmett grinning wickedly from the driver's side of his Jeep. "Who knew that ol' Eddie boy was so sweet? What's next? A heartfelt rendition of a love poem that compares her to a flower?"

Edward's eyes morph into a pointed glare. "Go to school, Emmett."

An elbow pokes out from the Jeep's window as Emmett chuckles. "Why the rush to get me away so soon? Now that Bella knows everything, we can finally hang out more. Hey, Bella! I heard it's pizza day in the cafeteria! Having two of you guys eating that junk instead of only one will really help us out. That food reeks! You wanna have lunch at our table?" A nanosecond passes and I hear Emmett yelp. His head snaps to his right. "Ow, babe! What was that for!" he whines, rubbing the back of his skull. "If Bella knows, she knows! We can't do anything about it now! So why not take advantage of it?"

From the passenger side of the Jeep, Rosalie gives Emmett, and then me, an icy cold stare. With an audible "hmph!", she crosses her arms and chooses to ignore us all by looking out of her window.

"Don't worry about her," Edward comforts softly. "She's been in a foul mood for hours. No one pays it much attention anymore. The only person who ever finishes on the losing end is her mate." I tilt my head up, scrunching my brow confusedly. He huffs a laugh and whispers. "She locked Emmett out of their bedroom last night."

From fifteen feet away, I hear a distinct whimper come from the Jeep. The look of despair on Emmett's face tells me everything that I did not want to know.

Meanwhile, Jasper climbs out of the vehicle and Alice pecks him on the cheek. Like a gentleman, he takes her suitcase and tosses it into the very back. "Morning, Jazz! Look what I did to Bella! Isn't it chic? Did you know that she owns ten cotton sweaters but only two wool ones? My fav was the black sweater lined with white trimming along the bottom. It was too cute! Her mom has excellent taste in clothes, but can you believe that Bella won't even try on half of-" she babbles nonstop as Jasper silently coaxes her into the backseat of the Jeep. I see who wears the mouth in that relationship.

"Come on, you guys," Emmett waves impatiently at us. "Let's get going. School starts in less than fifteen minutes. Sorry, but this is only a five seater, Bella. You'll have to sit on Edward's lap during the drive. Don't worry though. I'm sure he won't mind. It'll be the most action Edward has seen in his entire life!" he snickers.

Edward sighs, taking my hand and pulling me to the grass of the front yard. "We're not riding with you. Bella can drive us in her own vehicle." He looks at me meaningfully. "If that's agreeable to you?"

Since Emmett has already managed to make me blush twice in less than two minutes, being trapped in his Jeep while he cracks more teasing jokes doesn't sound very appealing. I think his brand of humor will take some getting used to.

"Yeah. I'll drive," I agree.

Edward opens the truck door and I climb into the driver's seat. He walks around and enters through the passenger door. "Thank you," he breathes out. "I needed a break from them for a bit."

"Is it like this every morning?" I ask as I stick the key into the ignition.

"Actually, it's tame in comparison to some days," he reveals dryly. A bronze brow arches high, a flash of worry haunting his features. "Are you sure you want to be a part of the madness? There's still time to back out."

My mouth curves into a smile. It will take more than wisecracking vampires and threats of makeovers to drive me away. "I think I can handle it."

The anxiety vanishes. He leans forward. I do the same. We meet in the middle of the truck, our lips touching. It isn't long before his hand is on my hip - pulling me closer. My fingers fondle his hair as I lose myself in the moment. It's been approximately eleven hours and twenty-seven minutes since I have been with him, and our bodies are well aware of that fact. If we keep on like this, the windows are going to fog up in no time...

"Woo hoo!" a voice yells for all of the neighborhood to hear. "Look babe! Edward must've paid attention all those times you and I were necking in his backseat! That's the same technique I've used on you! Good job, Edward!"

I look to my left. Emmett's Jeep idles at the curb, its driver wagging his brow up and down. I had forgotten to check if the Cullens left yet...

At the same time, Edward stops devouring my neck. His forehead comes to rest against my own, tired eyes gazing back. "Did I mention the lack of privacy among us?" he confides wearily.

My thoughts drift to super sensitive hearing and tiny beings who see almost everything thanks to her precognitive visions.

"Yeah. I figured that out by myself," I mutter.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- I'm trapped in the house with my family and three dogs thanks to a certain virus plaguing the planet. My youngest just remembered that he has a keyboard and has been playing "music" to pass the time. FYI, my noise cancelling headphones should be shipping out soon.**

**Next Chapter****\- Edward tries to convince Bella to attend prom. And since she's - ya know - **_**Bella**_**, she tries to resist. So, yeah. This will be basically a big ball of fluff. **

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	26. The Safety Dance

**Chapter 26- The Safety Dance**

**April 28, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

My boyfriend was born long before television, Twinkies, or the pop-up toaster were invented. My best friend drives like a maniac and gives more accurate weather forecasts than the meteorologists on TV. And my boyfriend's housemates guzzle down grizzly bear blood for breakfast, run faster than a bullet train, and try to convince the townsfolk of Forks that they are just your average human family. All in all, life in Forks is blissfully entertaining.

It has been well over a month since I was entrusted with their secrets. Most of the Cullens seem OK with how things have played out. Whenever I show up at their mansion, Carlisle and Esme greet me with hugs and smiles. They're the nicest adopted parent vampires I have ever met. Edward and I sit with the Cullen "kids" at least twice a week in the school cafeteria. Conversations range from witty banter concerning the arts to more unusual topics, such as how Emmett beat Jasper last week in an apparently epic wrestling match that lasted for hours in the wilds of the national park.

Additionally, it's always interesting to see the methods they employ when hiding the fact that they don't eat. Hamburgers are picked apart into tiny morsels and scattered around their trays. Chicken nuggets get slyly tossed into the trash can from fifty feet away. That is an impressive feat considering that there are hundreds of people around - yet not a single person ever notices. Sometimes Edward and I steal things from their trays if the food is edible and we're extra hungry. Whenever I relieve Emmett of a few unwanted French fries, he thanks me as though I did a huge favor and tries to pawn off the remainder of his food on me too.

While I am grateful for their kind reception, one Cullen remains as aloof as ever. In the six weeks since she had to run us to safety, Rosalie has not said a word to me. Her go-to tactic is to make believe that I do not exist. Although if I am very lucky, she will occasionally glance my way with the warmth of an Antarctic glacier before once again tuning me out.

At least I wasn't the only one dealing with Rosalie's silent treatment. The hostile glares she sent Edward were more intimidating than anything she has ever given me. She didn't speak to him for a long time either, evidently placing the blame entirely on his shoulders for telling me the truth about everything. But Edward took it all in stride, unperturbed that a supernatural being with a chip on her shoulder lived in the very same house as him. At least it seemed that way to me. I never saw him show up to school in the mornings with dark bags under his eyes to indicate that he stayed up all night worrying that Rosalie would sneak into his bedroom and strangle him while under cover of darkness.

Edward's Volvo had been badly wrecked thanks to James the vampire nomad. There were huge dents, broken windows, a missing driver's side door, and numerous other problems that made it impossible to drive. I assumed that the car would either be stuck at a body shop for weeks to come or dragged off to a scrapyard. Neither of those things occurred. The Cullens towed the Volvo to their enormous garage and let Rosalie handle the rest. Turns out that not only has she been blessed with unrivaled beauty, she also has the mechanical expertise that would put Mr. Goodwrench to shame. She can take a hunk of junk and transform it into a fully functional automobile in an incredibly short span of time. And in spite of being upset with Edward, she had his car up and running in only a few days. It's flawless again, appearing like it has never seen a scratch in its life.

By early April, Rosalie's anger abated somewhat. She no longer spends the entire lunch hour scowling at Edward like she wants to throw the contents of her uneaten pudding cup in his face. She even speaks to him civilly sometimes. This breakthrough pleased me very much. Being the cause of so much turmoil and disagreement between the two of them had me feeling a bit guilty.

Of course, not everything is hunky dory. She continues to pay me no mind and never acknowledges my existence. I said _hello_ to her two weeks ago and all I received in return was a sustained, awkward silence until someone else piped in to deflect it. There have been times when I sit across from her at the Cullen table and I wonder if I set my hair on fire, would she even look up from her perfect manicure and take notice?

Edward assures me that she won't be like this forever. He insists that she isn't quite as upset anymore and that things will settle down soon. But I'm not so sure. She is an _immortal_. I'm sure that she can hold on to a grudge for decades with no problem. With the way things are progressing, I'll have gray hair and sciatica before Rosalie will stop looking like I am a cockroach who crawled onto her path.

Vampire problems aside, other aspects of my life have changed in these last few weeks. The guy who attacked me in Port Angeles was extradited to Texas. He now wallows in some county jail down there with no hope of making bail since the judge made it some astronomically high amount. That's the extent of my knowledge concerning his whereabouts. I don't want additional details. Charlie is the one who handles them. He keeps all information to himself unless I ask specifically. And I _never_ ask.

Now that the serial rapist has been hauled away, I recently returned to Port Angeles after weeks of avoiding the place. Edward and I had a date night of dinner and a movie, a simple but fun evening that was exactly what I needed to replace less pleasant memories. Edward, of course, practically glued himself to my side and stared at everyone who passed by as though they were potential assailants. While we were at the movie theater, I informed him that I was going to the bathroom. The result was seeing an Edward whose nerves teetered on the edge of a breakdown. Just the thought that I would be out of his sight for a couple of minutes had him insisting that he would wait directly outside of the women's restroom. For once, I humored him and went along with the idea. The memories from that night in early March had been hard on him. Though once I was done and he saw that I was OK, I believe that's when he finally relaxed too.

At school, Ben and Angela have been dating for a while now. On the days that we don't eat with the Cullens, Edward and I agree that it is a blessing to have both Ben and Angela with us at our old lunch table. They don't talk in cutesy-couple baby talk that makes you want to gag. Nor do they try to give intimate details of their relationship that no one wants to hear. Yes...it's very nice having them with us. Otherwise, Edward and I would be stuck dealing with Mike and Jessica all alone - and those two are the exact opposite of Ben and Angela.

I was very concerned about Mike and Jessica's relationship in the beginning. Edward felt certain that Mike was manipulating her with the hope of making me jealous. Sometimes I would see him butter up Jessica with forced smiles and over-the-top compliments, and then - when her back was turned - quickly peek to ensure that I had been watching. Jessica may not be the smartest person alive, but she isn't dumb either. We estimated that Mike's con game would last a week or two at most before it fell apart.

However, as days and weeks went by, the pretense gradually changed. It's as though Mike forgot that it was all an act. He stopped covertly glancing my way when Jessica was talking and actually paid attention to her. He even began accompanying her on real dates instead of merely trying to shove their relationship status into everyone's face during school hours. By the end of March, they were cuddling, smooching, and calling each other nicknames that made everyone within hearing distance cringe - like snuggle monkey and baby cakes.

Mike's bitter attitude towards me changed too. The morning he politely asked how I did on my English assignment without a condescending sneer in sight was certainly a surprise. Yet after nearly three weeks of him not speaking to me, I was wary and wondered what his angle was now. But it turned out that there was no angle. He was only trying to reestablish our friendship. Although he never apologized for his childish behavior, I decided to overlook it for the sake of keeping the peace among us. So, he and I talk like normal people again - which is a much welcome reprieve from the past drama.

I have to admit that something else is far more shocking than our renewed friendship. Mike hasn't uttered a bad word against Edward or the Cullens in many weeks. I guess he and Jessica are much too busy goo-goo eyeing each other for him to have the time to glare at Edward anymore.

Although I am happy that things have worked out for the best, Edward predicts trouble in paradise once Mike and Jessica's "honeymoon" period ends. He believes that a day will soon come when many of their common habits (which they think are "adorable" right now) will suddenly seem unbearably annoying. For example, Mike's fifteen minute long stories that should take two at most to complete. Or, Jessica's needy tendency to ask Mike how she looks at least ten times a day. For the sake of everyone who attends Forks High, I sincerely hope Edward's prediction is wrong. The only thing worse than a cutsey-barfy couple are exes that can no longer stand one another. The school would become a battleground.

Within the past couple of weeks, a large portion of the student body has paired off into couples. My suspicions tell me that it's excitement over the upcoming prom that has elicited this phenomena. No one wants to be left out. I don't really get the hype. It's not the end of the world if you don't go. Prom is overrated. Plus, dancing inside of a smelly old gymnasium is much too dangerous of an activity for someone like me.

But my humble opinion appears to be in the minority. Whenever I admit that I will not be attending, people give me the strangest looks - as if not going will permanently hang over my head and haunt me till the day I die. Jessica and Angela have tried to change my mind, but I got them off my tail by claiming that Edward and I will be busy doing something else that night. In reality, he and I have no firm plans. I have absolutely no idea what we will do. Because while I am dead set against the prom, Edward is all for it. And he has made his opinion loud and clear. Numerous times.

It's a Thursday evening in late April, and Edward and I have just finished our homework. I'm busy cooking dinner while also preparing decent excuses so he will stop asking why I don't want to go to an idiotic high school dance. But really... Shouldn't it be obvious? Do I have to spell it out to him and thereby point out all of my flaws? I had hoped to avoid that scenario, though it is becoming increasingly difficult. Prom is a little more than a week away, and he has been more curious lately on why I keep turning him down.

Edward leans his forearms on the table while his eyes follow me around the kitchen. "It will only be for a couple of hours," he reminds me for the second time in five minutes.

Another fish fillet goes into the pan before I swing back around to deal with him. "I just think that it's a lot of trouble with very little to gain," I counter, folding my arms in front of myself.

Prom _is_ a hassle. It takes weeks of planning and requires hundreds of dollars that could be better spent somewhere else. And what are you left with after exhausting yourself trying to locate an expensive dress you will only wear once in your life? An empty wallet and photos of yourself you will be embarrassed to see in a couple of decades time.

His eyes briefly roll to the ceiling. "It wouldn't be that difficult to pull off. You and I know very well that Alice would take care of everything if you would agree. All you would need to do is show up and let her take care of the rest."

My confident posture slumps a bit. _Crap_. He's right. Alice _would_ do everything for me. The girl lives for this type of stuff. I've heard her go on and on about how she has put together every major Cullen event since the '50s - including Rosalie and Emmett's many elaborate weddings. She's so good at what she does, she'd probably track down a gown that I would absolutely love which would also look gorgeous fifty years down the road.

Damn you, Alice. Why do you have to be so organized and talented?

"OK, I'll give you that one," I concede grudgingly.

Desperate to come up with another plausible excuse that he can't write off so easily, my brain grasps at straws until another valid point comes to me. Edward knows how much I hate it when people stare. It makes me jittery. And watching people dance while sipping on fruit punch is the only thing there is to do at a prom. Surely he will understand if I use _this_ as my excuse for why we shouldn't go.

I try to establish proper eye contact. Eye contact is critical or else you risk looking like a liar. Hopefully, my strategy will throw off his built-in lie detector.

"But what about all those people? They might stare at us. I don't think I could handle much scrutiny that night," I explain.

Edward's lips curve upwards slightly. "I can't say that I would blame them. I'd be staring at you, too." Then he winks.

I openly frown. That wasn't quite the response I was hoping for. He was supposed to be sympathetic - not amused. And on top of that, I am now imagining hundreds of people plus Edward watching me trip on nothing but air. Being the first person to break a leg during a slow dance would be humiliating.

I exhale a long breath. "That's really not helping your case, Edward."

"Then what will?" he presses, not missing a beat. His gaze deepens, capturing me within them. I suddenly feel exposed and vulnerable, like he can see right through me.

My eyes dart to the floor as I dredge up one last excuse. I reach for the ends of my hair and nervously wrap a few strands around a finger. "It's just-... I think we should wait a little longer before we do something like this. Maybe next year I'll be ready."

His head flops to the side skeptically. "You just want to put it off. When I ask you this time next year, you'll have another excuse ready to give me."

My body goes rigid. "Oh? Are you and Alice _psychic twins_ now?" I taunt with narrowed eyes. Who does he think he is trying to predict what I'll say an entire year into the future? Sure - in this case - he happens to be remarkably perceptive and correct on all fronts. But still... The courteous thing for him to do is to not question my excuses and take everything I say at face value.

He rises from his chair and slowly stalks across the kitchen. "No, but I do know _you_," he purrs. "And I've been studying your strategies. You have given me plenty of excuses, but I don't believe that any of them should be too great of a concern for you."

With my back against the countertop, he comes to a stop inches away. His hand takes mine, pulling it from where I had been anxiously fiddling with my hair. "If you need help, you have Alice and several friends that could assist you in picking out a proper dress," he reminds me while playfully brushing my hair around his index finger. "And as for people looking at you, that's nothing new. Staring is the only thing the good people of Forks have for entertainment. And, finally - as for waiting until next year - well... I think we should go ahead and do it now."

"Why?"

"Because graduation would be soon afterwards and I think we'll be worrying about that more than attending a dance."

With my last decent excuse slipping through my grasp, a hint of frustration surfaces in my voice. "But it's just the prom! It's not that big of a deal."

"It doesn't have to be a 'big deal', Bella. It would only be an hour or two of your time, then we would leave," he reasons, his voice raspy and low.

I hate it when he comes up with a decent counterargument. And he said it nicely too, making it impossible for me to smart off in retaliation. Now I am left with no choice but to start laying out the truth. The painfully _humiliating_ truth.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and reluctantly peek up at him. "But what about my feet?" I hint within a mumble.

He glances down and then flicks his eyes back to my face. A slow smile lightens his features. "I see that you have two of them. What's the problem?"

My gaze hardens to stone. "The _problem_ is that I can barely walk without tripping when I wear sneakers. I don't even want to know what would happen if I were to wear a pair of high heels. It would be a disaster!"

His smile disappears and he returns to seriousness. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Not able to look him in the eye, my face points to the floor. My ultimate fear is revealed in almost a whisper. "Falling on my face in front of everyone would not be a night that I would want to remember."

A finger hooks under my chin and coaxes me to raise my head. When I meet his eyes, I don't see mockery or amusement. All I see is love and a soft smile.

"Silly girl. I'll be right next to you the entire time. I would never allow that to happen to you," he breathes out.

I'm beginning to feel the familiar stirrings of electricity sparking between us - which kind of helps me forget what I had been worrying about in the first place - when Edward's eyes dart to the side a moment. Now that his gaze isn't holding my senses hostage, I become aware of something echoing through the house. It's a rattling, metallic sound.

It's the front door knob.

Edward bends down until the tips of our noses brush. He plants a brief yet still impressive kiss that has my heart thrusting into overdrive in no time. Then he's gone in a flash, leaving me dazed and lightheaded by the stove top. My eyes flutter open. He's already sitting at the kitchen table and smiling innocently - looking like a model citizen who wasn't just over here successfully seducing the police chief's daughter.

I hear the sound of the front door opening and shutting from the other room. The noise reawakens me into action. Charlie is home from work. If he comes in here and sees me gulping for air like I just ran a 5k race, he'll know what Edward and I have been up to just now. And I like having my boyfriend with all of his body parts still functional.

I whip around and busy myself by flipping the fish frying in the skillet, hiding my face from Charlie. Less than half a minute later, I hear feet tromping into the kitchen. "Hey, kiddo. What's for dinner?" There is a brief pause. "Edward," he adds as a form of greeting.

"Fish," I answer. Hopefully, if he does see my face, he will assume my flushed cheeks and red lips are because of the heat wafting up from the stove.

I hear a chair drag on the floor as Charlie takes a seat. "That sounds great. You staying for dinner, Edward?"

"Yes, sir. I wouldn't miss it for the world. I've been forced to just sit here and smell her cooking for the past half hour. I'm starving now."

Charlie grunts, his way of acknowledging the accuracy of Edward's statement. A moment passes by before he speaks again. "Alice joining us tonight?"

I attempt to suppress a smile. Charlie has grown to love Alice almost as much as I have. She visits here often. A big plus about her is that she is an expert at helping me make this house look less like a curmudgeon bachelor's pad and more like something you wouldn't be ashamed to show your invited guests. And she's great at sweet-talking Charlie into going along with it without complaining. Through her influence, his old recliner that probably had more bacteria than all the petri dishes in a laboratory was upgraded to something newer and less flammable. Now a sleek leather one sits in the living room. Next, she convinced him to take down a few of the tackier wall decorations that I secretly despised, like the velvet painting of dogs playing poker. Unfortunately, Alice refuses to go along with my plan to banish all of my embarrassing old photographs from the mantle. She says they are precious and that I should be thankful to have so many photos to document my life. I'm not so sure about that. I wouldn't mind for that picture showing me being potty trained to "accidentally" disappear.

Alice stays over for dinner every now and then, but it's hard for her to keep up the charade of eating when a sharp-eyed person like Charlie sits three feet away. She normally limits her visits to after dinner in order to avoid it.

"Nope. She had some work to do at home," I answer. I'm certain that this is true. Alice is always doing something.

With both hands, I carry the platter of fried fish to the table and set it in the middle. I take a moment to turn off the gas burner on the stove and - when I return to the table - I see that half of the fish fillets are gone. I take a seat between Edward and Charlie and glance at their plates. One plate has two fillets and an appropriate amount of English peas and baby carrots. The other plate has four pieces of fried fish stacked like the Leaning Tower Of Pisa, two tiny carrots, and approximately five peas. Sometimes I think Charlie is a toddler hiding inside the body of an adult.

We eat quietly for a short time before we engage in small talk. Since this is Forks, small talk will rarely absorb your interest. It usually consists of Charlie telling us about his last fishing trip. On busy days at the police station, he will share that he received a phone call that required him to leave his desk and conduct actual police work. That's usually the limit to the excitement.

When he asks Edward and me what we've been up to, we have to downplay things a little. We can't tell him how we watched Esme weed her entire vegetable garden in five seconds flat and that the sunlight had her sparkling like a crystal while doing so. Or, how Jasper kicked a rock the size of my head and sent it flying far into the distance. Or, that Carlisle diagnosed a young girl's medical condition by merely sniffing the air around her. Truly interesting topics such as these we must keep to ourselves.

"I ran into Harry Clearwater today," Charlie reveals in between bites of his meal.

If he is reduced to informing me who he bumped into, that means that it was a very slow day at the police station. I try to hold in a yawn. "Who's that?"

"He lives down on the rez." Charlie shoves in a mouthful of fish and chews. After he gulps it down, he adds, "I haven't seen him in a while. He filled me in on some news about Billy."

My face pops up from staring at my plate. Now Charlie has my full attention. I glance at Edward to ensure that he is listening. His emerald green eyes are moving back and forth, from Charlie's face to mine.

"Billy Black?" I reconfirm.

Charlie silently nods and adds another bite of fish to his mouth.

I give him a few seconds to elaborate, but his appetite is distracting him from the subject at hand. "What about him?" I prompt.

In the recent past, Edward has had a rocky relationship with Billy Black and the Quileute. Along with Sam, they spent months trying to convince him to leave the Cullen house out of fear for his safety. But Edward refused. He saw the Cullens in a different light. Were they vampires? Yes. But didn't they also spend several decades preparing for his arrival just so they could help him? Didn't they feed more often than necessary as a precaution? And wouldn't a group of beings whose oldest member had hundreds of years under his belt be more empathetic to time travel problems than a bunch of humans who have no idea that Edward was born so long ago? The answer is yes. So Edward stayed with the Cullens - despite the tribe's objections.

After those two vampire nomads wrecked havoc around here back in March, Sam convinced a few members of the tribe's elders to try to work _with_ the Cullens as opposed to just against them. Carlisle, Edward, Sam, and Billy met one night to negotiate an update to the treaty that had apparently been in place since the Great Depression. Two aspects of the treaty remain in place: the vampire members of the Cullen coven cannot cross onto reservation land, and secondly, they must never bite a human. In return, the Quileute tribe promised to stop trying to yank Edward out of the Cullen household or spy on his whereabouts since it was clear he was content with his life there. New conditions to the treaty were laid out as well. The two groups have agreed to communicate if danger is ever present in Forks - including any supernatural friends of the Cullens who may pass through.

Not everyone was happy with the arrangement - or so I have been told. Paul continues to hate the Cullens with a passion and does not trust them. But Sam is the alpha and what he says goes. As for Billy Black, Edward thinks he is still on the fence about it all. His whole life had been spent preparing for the possible return of the Cold Ones With Golden Eyes. He had been taught to be watchful and leery of them. And when he found out that a human was in their care, Billy immediately feared the worst. Trust will have to be built slowly within him.

Charlie chugs down his ice tea before answering my question. "Well, it's not really about him. It's about his son. A few days ago, someone mentioned that he hadn't been to school for a while. So, I asked Harry if he knew anything about it. He said that the boy's too sick to go anywhere."

My eyes spread open wide. "Jacob's sick?" If the rumors are true, it might be serious.

Charlie's brow ridge shoots up to his forehead. "I didn't think that you would remember him. You haven't seen him since you were little."

"I didn't remember him. I met him when Edward and I went to First Beach."

Charlie's head tilts to the side and a forkful of fish enters his mouth. He chews ruminatively for a short while. "Oh... Well, I think I'm gonna swing by Billy's house after work tomorrow to check on him. I haven't seen either one of them in a couple of months," he adds in a low mumble.

Thanks to Jacob's tattling, I know exactly why Charlie hasn't visited the Blacks lately. Billy bad-mouthed the Cullens one time too many and Charlie stopped speaking to him. I hope since relations between the tribe and the Cullens have improved, Charlie and Billy can patch up their friendship too.

"OK. I'll keep your dinner in the oven until you get home," I reply.

Charlie snorts and looks at me sideways, slightly shaking his head. "Tomorrow is _Friday_. I'm sure you two have more exciting things you can do besides waiting for me to come home and eat dinner. I was planning on stopping by the diner and catching up on all the gossip I've been missing out on."

All happiness flies out the kitchen window. The diner is my arch nemesis. It is nothing but a den of evil where they think deep-fried butter is a healthy snack since it's technically a dairy product.

"You just want to eat there so you can rack up on your daily intake of saturated fats and salt without having me watching over your shoulder," I accuse with a roll of my eyes.

One eyebrow curves up on my father's face. "I ate there every night for the past decade until you moved back. I've been there maybe twice since then. It's not going to kill me to eat there tomorrow night," he insists, using his Stubborn Dad voice.

"I hope not," I grumble in return. Maybe I should ask Carlisle to have the stomach pump down at the hospital up and running tomorrow night just in case there's an emergency.

We resume eating. Charlie forks in a couple of bites and swallows. "So...I hear prom's coming up soon."

Never in my life has Charlie Swan said a word about a school dance. This is the very last topic I expected would come from his mouth. Dances aren't his style. The man barely moves. His idea of an exciting evening is stretching out on his recliner while he watches people on TV running around and doing all the work. I am woefully unprepared on how to handle this situation.

My only defense is to focus my attention on the food in front of me. If I do not show any interest in what he is saying, maybe he will feel obliged to move the conversation elsewhere.

"Yep," I respond as I move a pea across my plate.

"Ms. Cope was telling me the other day that it even has a theme this year. 'A Night Under The Stars'. That sounds interesting."

My knee bounces underneath the table, the only outlet to my frustration that I can do without anyone noticing. "Yeah. I heard about that, too," I reply in a voice flatter than the plains of Kansas.

The kitchen grows quiet except for the scraping of utensils against our dinner plates. I grow optimistic that he has exhausted his chitchat reserves on the subject - until I hear a forced cough.

"Mrs. Fields told me that her daughter is going this weekend to pick out a dress. I think some boy asked her to the prom just a few days ago," Charlie reveals as though a budding teenage romance is something he talks about all the time.

I keep my facial features clear of expression. "That's nice," I respond apathetically. Then I spear a carrot with my fork and thrust it into my mouth, effectively ending the discussion from my perspective.

"I made sure to save up a little extra so you can buy a dress too. Mrs. Fields said there is going to be a sale at the department store in Port Angeles this weekend. Maybe you and some of your friends can team up and go together."

My eyes dart up from my plate and land on the person who just spoke those words. I would expect Mom to push me to go to prom, but not Charlie. He never interferes with my decisions as long as they don't violate any laws or put me in jeopardy of losing a limb.

I really don't want to have this discussion with my father. I've already been through it with Edward today - and that was enough.

"Dad... Don't worry about it. I don't need any of your money. Keep it and go buy yourself a nice new rod, or one of those fancy fish sonar things to attach to your boat," I say in an attempt to side-step the issue. I figure if I put happy fishing thoughts inside of his skull, he'll spend the rest of the night daydreaming about some hidden stream somewhere.

A sigh akin to a groan slips from his mouth. He turns his focus to the other occupant at the table. "Have you asked her yet?"

Edward gives one, firm head nod. "Several times."

"And?"

Edward's eyes squint musingly off into the distance. "She makes up elaborate excuses as to why it would be impossible for her to attend. I'm beginning to wonder if she is too embarrassed to be seen with me after school hours."

My forehead furrows down almost to the bridge of my nose. I shoot Edward a nice glare too. _Stupid boy who can't keep his trap shut._ Doesn't he know that boyfriends and fathers are mortal enemies? They aren't supposed to team up and work cohesively against me. This is indisputable proof that there is a glitch in the matrix around Forks.

Charlie whips back around, his questioning gaze zeroing in on me. "Why don't you want to go?"

I stiffen my back and stare defiantly. "Because prom is pointless. In twenty years, who's going to remember their prom night? No one, that's who. So, I think it would be far more memorable for us if we were to find something interesting to do that night instead. Like, a movie. Or a concert. That sounds like a lot of fun."

Charlie leans back in the chair, seemingly no longer interested in his dinner. "I think your assumption is wrong, Bells. I remember my prom just fine. Your mom wore a hot pink dress with puffy sleeves and a bow on the back. I wore a white tux that I rented from Port Angeles. Jeff Nichols was prom king and Cindy Downs was the queen. The last song they played that night was _I Want To Know What Love Is _by Foreigner. I may be old, but I'm not ancient enough to have lost my memory yet," he ends with a cocky smirk.

My mouth falls into a deeper frown. He can recite his life from 1987 just fine, but I bet the man couldn't tell me what we ate for breakfast this morning. Although, he did neglect to mention Mom's little baby bump from that evening. So, I guess in a way, I have already been to the prom.

"OK, Dad. Point taken. You obviously have a photographic memory," I retort, allowing the sarcasm to drip freely.

The amusement on Charlie's face slackens. "I just think that you should give it a chance. I don't want you to grow up and regret not going."

I admit the sentiment is nice. But I believe that my regrets would be much more pronounced if I were to go that night and something mortifying occurs, like a slip and fall on the dance floor that literally brings down the room - decorations and all.

I place a forkful of fish into my mouth and make a show of chewing. It's a fantastic delaying tactic.

"I'll think about it," I reply.

Charlie's dark eyes shine triumphantly and he goes back to attacking his dinner. But what he evidently doesn't grasp is that I just thought about it some more. And I have decided that I am right and he is wrong.

The remainder of dinner is less dramatic than the first half. Charlie doesn't push me anymore and he soon drifts to the living room to hunker down in front of the TV. Edward and I head outside to be alone for a while. The overcast sky blocks out a majority of the evening's lingering daylight. But there is something comforting about the front porch swing that calls to me sometimes. It's gentle, swaying movements are relaxing in times of stress.

I plop down on the wooden swing and Edward takes the spot to my right. The swing rocks back and forth while we enjoy the peaceful atmosphere. Within thirty seconds, an arm weaves its way around my shoulders. He pulls me across the three inches that separate us until I am snuggled at his side. My lips curve up and I lay my head directly above his heart.

"It's so sad that you can't go more than two minutes without touching me," I tease.

"You're exaggerating. It's been nearly half an hour."

"And that's sad, too."

"What is?"

"That you actually keep up with how long it's been since you last touched me."

I peek up and watch his face transform into that crooked grin that I love. "I blame _you_ for that. Ever since you showed up that day in the school cafeteria, I've been a complete mess. When I'm at home, I'm counting the minutes until I can see you again. Everything makes me think of you. And then, when we are together, I can never seem to get you close enough. Somehow you became my whole world before I was even aware of it."

I smile so wide that it almost hurts, but I try to hide it. He basically just described how I felt for the past three months.

"That sounds horrible," I say in feigned sympathy. "Having an obsession like that is probably unhealthy for a boy your age. Maybe I should take you to rehab."

"I don't think they could ever find a cure. I'm hopelessly addicted," he smoothly replies.

"Good. I like your unhealthy dependency on me more than I let on. I'm used to it now."

He chuckles a deep laugh and kisses the top of my head. "And I'll be forever grateful for your benevolence."

We lapse into silence and watch the sky gradually fade to black. His fingers brush through my hair as we sway, relaxing me further. The only sound I hear is Edward's heartbeat thumping underneath my ear. It's oddly soothing, luring me to sleep.

"Bella?"

His rumbling voice breaks through the spell. I am barely conscious but I summon the energy to answer. "Hmm?"

"I think Charlie is right. I don't want either one of us looking back on our lives and realizing we missed out on anything. I want to take you to the prom."

I sit up straight as an arrow, eyes wide awake now. "But why? We could do anything else that night. Why is prom so important to you?"

He smirks, yet somehow he appears as charming as ever. "Did you know that my mother did a lot of charity work?"

My suspicions kick up a notch, forcing my eyes to narrow into slits. "No. Does this have anything to do with my question, or are you just trying to distract me?"

"This has _everything_ to do with your question. As I was saying, my mother did a lot of charity work. Back then, the favorite way to raise funds for your charity was by throwing a huge, elaborate ball. And, as you can imagine, she helped throw a lot of them. So, several times a year, Mother would plead with me to ask someone - _anyone_ \- to attend one with me. Every time, I would tell her _no_ \- that I wasn't interested. And, every time, she would walk away disappointed. I always felt guilty that I was letting her down, but I could never imagine myself at one of those..._things_ with a girl attached to my arm like an accessory. And I would never purposely give a girl the wrong idea about me. I was happy to stay an unattached bachelor.

"Then I somehow found myself here and my life was flipped upside down. I had been accustomed to living a certain way, and when I was faced with-" Edward stops speaking and temporarily glances away from my face. His arm sweeps around towards the world at large. "-_All this_ \- it was almost too much for me to handle. I stayed up in my room for hours on end thinking back on everything that had been taken away from me. It was not a healthy way to live. Looking back, I'm shocked that Carlisle and Esme didn't insist on either therapy or a straight jacket," he adds with a faint frown.

His eyes find me again. Taking my hand, he carefully turns it palm up and peppers it with soft kisses as he continues his story. "And just when I thought my life could not become any more complicated, you came along and flipped my world around again - but for the better, of course. I've never been so content before - not even in Chicago."

I try to keep my concentration centered on the subject at hand instead of the lips _on_ my hand. "But..." I trail off, my eyebrows lifting expectantly.

A small smile tugs the corner of his mouth. "_But_...I _would_ like to fulfill one of my mother's wishes even though she isn't here. I want for us to dress up for once. Maybe have a nice, quiet dinner somewhere that doesn't involve anyone but you and me. Then, we can show up to prom, see what it's like, say hello to a few people, then leave. It doesn't need to be a big production."

My arms cross and I stare with hardening eyes. He almost got me. Bringing up the sad Mom story was a genius move. If he had left it at that, I might have agreed to his wish. However, while he was listing the things we would do on prom night, he inadvertently reminded me of something else that I firmly oppose.

"Ha! Aren't you forgetting something? Isn't it usual for people to _dance_ at prom? Or did you conveniently forget that aspect?" I snap.

Dancing and falling go hand in hand with balance-challenged people like me. Plus, I don't know how to dance. I have never done it before - unless you count that time when I was fourteen and really got into the song I was singing off-key in the shower. I swayed my hips a bit too much and immediately slipped on the wet tile floor. I have the scar under my arm to prove it.

Edward's gaze strengthens while his voice does the opposite. "I didn't mention it because I knew that it would be a deal breaker for you. Actually, I was thinking of offering you a compromise of sorts. We go but we won't dance around all those people. Would that make you feel better?"

My ears perk up. He has already sworn to keep me upright during the night. Dancing was the last stumbling block. And he may have just removed it.

"That does sound a little bit better," I reply slowly.

Edward's eyes form a hopeful sparkle. "Does that mean you'll go with me?"

I take a second to examine him for traces of dishonesty. He is normally a kind and considerate guy. But he is also smart and sneakier than a snake.

"You _promise_ that we won't dance?" I stress.

He sits up with perfect posture, raising his hand up as though we are in a courtroom. "I swear that there will be absolutely no dancing in the gym when I take you to the prom."

My head falls back to his shoulder. "OK," I answer in a grin.

He leans into my ear and speaks. "Thank you, love. I'll make sure that we both have a unforgettable experience that night."

My eyes dart up and give a reproachful stare. "Every night with you is unforgettable, Edward."

A fake frown puckers his lips out. "I'm jealous. I should have said that to _you_."

I struggle to contain a smile. "Hey, I can't help it that my brain works faster than yours," I shrug.

He chuckles and squeezes me closer. "Undoubtedly, it does. Your beauty tends to overwhelm me."

Now that dancing is off the table, prom doesn't sound so bad. As long as I remain seated the entire time, no disasters can take place. I can watch our friends have a nice time and no one can complain that I didn't go. Also, I can send Mom a picture of me in a dress that isn't all black and doesn't involve a funeral in any way - her lifelong dream come true.

With my mind made up, I huff an inaudible laugh and start counting to twenty. Last weekend when I was wondering if I should get Edward to try a tamale since he isn't very familiar with multicultural foods, Alice had the address of a Mexican restaurant plus a reservation set up for the two of us before my thought was even complete. Since I am in need of a formal dress, I'm sure she's chomping at the bit to get me to the nearest department store. She has only mentioned how we should go shopping one or two _thousand_ times.

But as the seconds - and then minutes - slip away, nothing happens.

My forehead scrunches down. "Edward? Do you have your phone with you?"

"Yes. It's in my pocket. Why?"

"Oh. Well, now that we've decided to go, I thought Alice would materialize in front of me, or at the very least, call me. Isn't she usually the one that wants to drag me around shopping for useless stuff? Now that I need her, she's a no-show."

He sits up straighter with his brow hung low. "Hmm... You're right."

The swing sways in the breeze as we attempt to sort through the conundrum. Alice isn't out of town. She just hunted yesterday. She should be at home at this very moment with full access to a phone...

"I think I have a couple of hypotheses for you that may explain why," interrupts Edward.

"Let's hear them."

"All right. She hasn't called you because either A) she suddenly has no interest in dressing you or giving you makeovers. Or, B) she has a rack of formal dresses of your exact size stashed inside of her closet that she bought months ago just in case this situation ever arose."

My head bobs up and down. Edward has lived with Alice for so long that he can practically read her mind. It's a little scary.

"The second one sounds the most likely," I agree.

**00000000000000000000**

Alice shows up early at my house and drags me out of bed - ruining my plans of sleeping late on a Saturday. Today she is helping me find a prom dress, but I'm not really happy about it. Trying on a bunch of clothes is not my idea of a fun weekend. Part of me wants to tell her to shove a hand into her closet, yank out a dress at random, and I'll just go with that. But I know Alice would never let me get out of it so easily. Her greatest joy is the hunt for the "perfect outfit" - for both herself and others.

I dress myself slowly to delay the inevitable, but she still manages to usher me inside the Cullen mansion by ten o'clock in the morning. She flings open the front door and then my jaw flops to the floor. Their living room has morphed into a Macy's stockroom. Dresses are piled on the furniture. Dresses hang from numerous racks. Dresses spill out from huge trunks. When Alice mentioned that she had a few for me to choose from, I didn't realize that she meant a _few dozen_.

"Good morning, Bella. Have you had your breakfast yet?" asks a mountain of satin and taffeta. I squint until I catch sight of Esme's white hand waving from behind the pile of pink.

I shoot Alice a pointed stare. "No, I haven't. _Someone_ said that we didn't have that kind of time to waste."

Alice closes the front door and floats up to my side. "Wrong," she retorts perkily. "It took you over an hour to shower and dress yourself. Then - when you acted like it would take an additional hour just to whip up something to eat - I said that you were intensionally wasting our time and that you could grab something once we got here."

My lips pucker into a frown. Stupid perfect vampire memory...

Esme hops up from her armchair, vanishes for approximately half of a second, and reappears with a cart laden with food. "I was hoping you'd say that. I made plenty of waffles this morning. They're one of Edward's favorites," she smiles as she encourages me to take a seat.

I unfurl a napkin and place it on my lap. At the same time, my gaze wanders up the stairs. "Has he eaten yet?" I ask in a nonchalant sort of way. I wonder if I can make it up to his room before Alice notices? Since her focus right now is centered on which dress I should try on first, I may have a good shot...

"Oh, yes, he ate a while ago," replies Esme. "But I'm afraid that he couldn't enjoy it as much as I would have liked. He had to rush through it. Emmett and Jasper wanted to get on the road before nine o'clock."

I pause in my chewing and stare a moment. I quickly swallow down some orange juice so I can talk without choking. "He's not here?"

Alice answers me while fluffing up a puffy white dress that is reminiscent in size and shape to a parade float. "Um-hmm. All three of the boys are gone. And Carlisle is working a shift at the hospital. If they had stayed, Edward would have made it his mission to find out what you'll be wearing next weekend. He also isn't above persuading the other men to help in the dirty work. They would have ruined the surprise. So we sent them all away for a few hours so we can work in peace."

"Where did he go?"

"Seattle. There's some civil war exhibition being held there until the end of the month. Jazz wanted to go check its accuracy." She straightens up for a moment and breathes out a heavy sigh. "He still hasn't gotten over the fact that when he enlisted, the recruiter accidentally wrote his name on the roster as _Casper_. Literacy rates weren't very impressive back in 1863."

I can't stop the pout forming on my lips. Spending my day sightseeing with Edward and looking at old civil war artefacts sounds a lot more fun than what Alice probably has scheduled for today. "I wouldn't have minded going to Seattle, too," I grumble.

She drops the dress she had been fussing with and twirls around, her face lighting up. "That's a _great_ idea. Staying here and picking out a nice dress does sound boring. Give me a minute to call up a few of my favorite stores up in Seattle and I'll let them know we're coming. And I'll be sure to tell Alphonso down at Nordstrom to reserve the women's department for our use exclusively. While we're looking through their dresses, we can go ahead and begin shopping for your summer clothes too. Are you wearing comfortable shoes? We'll be doing a lot of walking today," she ends on a chipper note.

My eyes narrow on her smiling face. The downside to being friends with a creature who has been on this planet decades longer than you is that she knows all the tricks to get you to bend to her will. She knows good and well that I would rather have a tooth yanked out without novocaine than be subjected to a long shopping excursion. I guess I'll be stuck here for the rest of the day.

I'm almost finished with breakfast when Esme says Rosalie's name aloud in a gentle voice. A heartbeat later, the blonde stands at the bottom of the staircase.

"What?" she asks, never so much as glancing my way.

"Why don't you join us, dear? We're having a girls day. Doesn't that sound nice?" Esme remarks in a sunny tone.

Rosalie's amber eyes freeze into ice cubes. "Marvelous."

Esme must be good at overlooking Rosalie's sarcasm and subtle hatred towards human girls. She coaxes Rosalie to take a seat and instructs her to "help us find Bella the perfect dress for her special day". Judging by the way Rosalie is immersing herself in her manicure buffing, I'm going to guess she doesn't care if I show up on prom night in a potato sack.

A folding screen has been set up in the corner of the room, becoming a makeshift changing area. Alice thrusts dress after dress in my direction to try on but none are what I was hoping for. They are either too frilly or too flamboyant for my taste.

Next I am handed a green sequined dress that gleams like a jewel. It's also tighter than a straight jacket. It takes approximately five minutes of struggling just to get it past my head.

Unable to bend or breathe adequately due to the constricting fabric, I shuffle barefoot from behind the screen. I take tiny, Morticia Addams footsteps since I can barely walk. It feels like someone rolled me up in a rug and duct-taped it around my body.

"How lovely!" beams Esme. Esme never voices a critical opinion. She doesn't have it in her. Each dress is "lovely" in her eyes.

Alice circles around me, studying the dress closely. "This wasn't exactly what I was picturing when I bought this for you... What do you think, Rose?"

Rosalie huffs a breath before looking up from her fingernails. She stares for a split second and her eyes widen, exposing the yellow-gold irises. Her face snaps in Alice's direction. "You put her in _that_?" she emphasizes.

"Well, yeah. It almost matches Edward's eyes. Don't you think so?"

Her blonde brow arches. "Yes, it does. But it also makes her look like a seaweed wrap."

I gasp for air with my crushed lungs and fight lightheadedness. "It feels like it, too. It's a little too tight for me, Alice."

Probably foreseeing me toppling over at any moment, Alice supports me back to the changing area. Although we try to pry the dress off, it won't budge. She has no choice but to rip the fabric at the seams until I am free, her cold fingers acting as the jaws of life.

Once I can breathe normally again, more dresses are tried on. My spirits plummet by the minute. Although Alice is a good friend and only wants to help, I have to be firm with her or else she will put me into the most ridiculous dresses you could find. She likes to stand out from the crowd in her outfits. I don't. So when she urges me to try on a canary yellow one with wispy feathers, I glare and say that I thought she had better taste than urging me to wear a dress that looks more like a Bird Bird costume than something I would wear out in public. One dress she gives me hangs precariously from a lone shoulder and exposes more of my midriff that I am comfortable with. I have to explain to Alice the concept of wardrobe malfunctions and how I do not want to be part of that statistic.

Dress number twenty-seven slips on and I step out from behind the screen. Esme straightens up and clasps her hands together. "Oh, my! That one is simply _beautiful_!"

"That's the same thing that you said three dresses ago," comments Rosalie as she paints her thumbnail.

"Well...that one _was_ beautiful," Esme drawls. "But _this_ one is even more so."

I gaze into the giant mirror and study my reflection. The dress _is_ pretty. And it's not nearly as gaudy as most of the other ones I tried on. But I'm not sure I can pull off wearing it. It's off the shoulder and made with dark blue silk, the hemline ending a few inches above my knees. I've never worn something so short and feminine before.

Alice halts digging through a trunk and flies across the room. "Finally! Something decent we can put into the 'Maybe' pile. Although, I think it's safe to say that we've found the right one for you."

"Are you sure?" I ask, nibbling on my bottom lip. "You don't think it's too... revealing?"

"Of course not. You're just showing off a little leg," she assures me while adjusting the shoulder area of the dress.

Esme's smile grows. "That's right. It's perfect for a girl your age. And it compliments your skin tone so well! Edward will love it just as much as we do. He will be _smitten _by it."

Rosalie glances up for a second before resuming her manicure. "The dress isn't all he'll be smitten by," she remarks ominously.

"What do you mean by that, dear?"

The bottle of nail polish in Rosalie's hand is placed upon the table and she leans back in her chair. "He is practically a grown man who - up until recently - had never seen skin above a woman's ankle. Now you're giving him a whole lot more to enjoy." She looks me in the eye - something that she hasn't done in weeks. "I hope you don't mind being manhandled. If you don't like it, just aim for the groin. Works every time."

A wave of pink washes over me and heats my face. I had hoped that Rosalie and I could look past our differences and find common ground, but this wasn't what I had in mind.

Esme's head swings from side to side, her expression earnest. "Oh, no. Edward would _never_ behave that way. He is a _good _boy_._"

"So is Emmett - up until he sees something he likes. I wore a dress similar to that one a few years ago. He snatched it off almost as soon as he saw it." Rosalie cracks a smile, the first one I have ever seen on her face. "We were occupied for the rest of the week."

The flames burning my face flare into an inferno. At the same moment, Alice flits up to me with a new dress slung across an arm and holds it out for me to take. When I make no move for it, her eyes dart up. She silently takes stock of my blushing face and then glances at the red dress she holds. Her lips purse out as she tosses it aside. "Red clashes with her cheeks," she mutters to herself.

After my face fades back to normal, we push on with the search. But thirty minutes and several gowns later, I give up and admit that I won't find a better dress than the dark blue one.

Alice does a little happy dance and grins. "You made the right choice. It's simple but classy. Now it's on to the shoes."

Collapsing onto a chair, I see dark spots swirling in front of my eyes. I'm not used to unzipping myself out of a hundred different items of clothing in the span of two hours. "W-what?" I sputter in an exhausted daze.

"Shoes! You know, those things you wear on your feet? What did you think? That you'd wear your white Keds to the prom?" Then she giggles a laugh that bounces off the walls.

But I don't join in on the laughter. I flick my attention down to my lap, avoiding her eyes.

She sucks in a gasp. "Oh my god... You were!" she moans.

I shrug up a shoulder. "They're nice. You can wear them with nearly anything."

"_Nearly _anything," she stresses. "But not a formal gown! You'd be the laughing stock of the school."

She dashes over to a trunk, pulls out a pair of sparkly blue shoes, and carefully places them into my hands as though they are idols which should be worshipped. They have long, thin heels - like spikes on a medieval weapon. Wearing them would add several inches to my height. I would almost be standing at eye level with Edward if I wore them - providing that I could stay upright, of course. And that is highly doubtful.

Holding the high heels out by their straps, I dangle them in front of her pale face. "I can't wear these things."

Alice places her arms upon her hips. "How do you know? You haven't tried them on yet."

"I can barely walk barefoot and not lose my balance. So how am I going to walk around in five inch heels without breaking my neck?"

Her bottom lip juts out and her eyes grow wide. "But they're so _pretty_, Bella. They're perfect for the look you're going for. And as for falling, don't worry about it. You'll have Edward there to help you."

"That's right. But he will help _walk_ me around - not _carry_ me," I hiss.

I want sensible flats but Alice insists that heels are a must. Through Esme's advanced negotiations skills, we compromise on a pair of plain midnight blue kitten heels. They are less intimidating than the other shoe choices, plus I am assured that I have a better shot at walking in them without twisting an ankle. However, two inch heels are still hazardous for a girl like me. Alice recommends trying to walk around in them until I can get the hang of it. It's probably a good idea since I've never worn anything like high heels before.

I take a few practice steps without falling and smile at myself. "I did it!" I exclaim proudly.

"You sure did. But how about you stop holding on to the back of the couch like it's a baby walker and let's see how you do on your own."

My mouth sinks into a frown. As the only sentient being in this house who is breakable, dying while merely trying to move from point a to point b is a real possibility.

I reluctantly release my grip on the couch. Now that I have nothing to hold on to, I take wobbly steps that probably have me looking like a seventeen year old wino. By instinct, my arms spread out tightrope-walker style as I try to cross the Cullen living area. When I reach the other side of the room without stumbling to the floor, I almost take a bow.

But I am the only one in the room that's impressed by this accomplishment. Alice stands nearby with folded arms, quietly studying my feet (which unnerves me since I can't even guess what she may be plotting up in that head of hers).

"I have an idea," she murmurs. "Give me a sec and I'll be right back." Having vanished from sight for less time than what she had said, she's back with something clutched by her side. It's a hardcover book.

I give a scoffing laugh. "I didn't know they publish books on how to walk in heels."

She flashes a faint smile. "Actually, this is just an old fairytale book. And you're not reading it. It's going on your head. You need to improve your posture and sense of balance. That's all you're lacking."

"But, Alice... I don't _have_ a sense of balance. I was born without it."

"And that's why this is going on your head. You are going to practice until you learn how to walk properly."

I am ordered to keep my arms by my sides and my face pointed across the room as I walk. But the book won't cooperate. It tumbles off my head continuously. No matter how hard I try, I can't walk and balance it at the same time. But if one of us has to go down, I'd rather it be the book than me.

"Come on, Bella! Stop looking at your feet. It's throwing you off!" barks Alice as the book slides off my head for the hundredth time.

"I'm looking so I won't trip on anything."

"There isn't anything down there. I moved everything out of your path."

"But I might trip over my other foot," I remind her.

Alice moves in front of me and places the book back on the top of my skull. Her icy fingers raise my chin upwards. "You are too paranoid. Stop worrying about your feet. Let your confidence guide you."

I blink back at her. Confidence? I don't have much of that either.

From behind me, Esme's encouraging voice drifts around the room. "Think of happy things while you walk that will lift your spirits. Like...how lovely of a time you'll be having come next Saturday."

Taking a deep breath, I make another go at it but the book falls within three footsteps. Alice immediately sets it on my head again. This time the book drops after just one step. She puts it back. Then it slides off before I even move an inch.

Her dark eyebrows slant downwards. "_Stop slouching_. The cavemen on an evolutionary chart have better postures than you do."

My back goes ramrod straight and I flash her a dirty look. I keep my head high and take tiny, determined steps. At the halfway point of the room, Esme cries out in joyous celebration.

"You're doing _much_ better, dear! Are you thinking happy thoughts?"

"Yes. I'm imagining slapping Alice repeatedly." Imagining is all I can do. If I really tried it, I would likely crack a bone in my hand.

I hear a snort and my head snaps around, sending the book to the ground. The corners of Rosalie's mouth are slightly raised as she reads from a car magazine.

Gee, I'm on a roll. She looked, spoke, _and_ laughed at me today. Who knew that insulting Alice would help bridge the gap between us.

**0000000000000000000**

A week later, I'm up in my bedroom with a stomach full of knots. Alice applies a coat of mascara to my eyelashes and begs me to stop rubbing my face. Wearing makeup is something I rarely bother with. But it is deemed mandatory tonight.

Edward will be here to pick me up soon and I'm suddenly unsure of myself. Of _everything_, really. Maybe prom is a mistake. I never quite mastered the art of walking in my kitten heels. We can just hang around the house tonight instead of risking disaster. And maybe this wasn't the best dress after all. I probably should have chosen something baggier. And much, much longer.

My eyes dart to my closet and quietly speculate on what pair of slacks might be considered nice enough to wear underneath my dress. In no time, Alice gives a mumbled "don't even think about it" warning that deprives me of all hope.

She's putting the final touches to my curled, wavy hair when her eyes glaze over for a nanosecond. Then she announces that Edward has just turned on to my street. Nerves rattle my insides.

A few minutes pass by and Alice declares that I am ready. She pulls me up from my chair and leads me like a frightened donkey out into the hallway. As she coaxes me to move forward, Edward's voice floats up the staircase. When my foot lands on the top step, I catch sight of him. His back is turned towards me while he has a conversation with Charlie near the front door. Without warning, his entire frame turns and our eyes meet.

I inhale a breath and hold it.

Edward in tuxedo good. _Very_ good.

While my brain flat lines, a smile that could melt steel spreads across his face. He went with the formal - yet timeless - black tie look. It's perfect. And dazzling. Alice supports one side of me while my other hand clings to the handrail - otherwise I would be rolling down these stairs like the boulder from _Raiders Of The Lost Ark_. My sense of balance hasn't improved a bit. But seeing Edward out of jeans and in something classically masculine is more dizzying than being spun around in circles fifty times.

He and I have dinner at a little Italian place in Port Angeles. The hostess seats us in a booth near the back of the restaurant, which boasts a quaint view of the city pier. Edward slips in beside me, doing that annoying thing where a couple sits directly beside one another in the booth instead of having the table separate them. Of course - since it's us in this scenario - I have no problem with this taboo. If the other patrons are staring and tutting their disapproval behind our backs, I wouldn't know. I can't keep my eyes off of him.

Prom is in full swing by the time we show up on the school grounds. He locks an arm around my lower back and walks us to the gymnasium. Music streams out from underneath the closed doors, blending in with the additional sounds of voices and cackling laughter. My fingers dig into his tuxedo sleeve as wave after wave of anxiety washes over me, but he doesn't give me enough time to do anything about it. He shoots a quick wink that knocks my knees together and escorts us inside.

The gym's bright florescent lights are off tonight. String lights similar to the ones you would find on a Christmas tree illuminate the room, giving it a soft and intimate glow. Cheap decorations of glittery stars and crepe paper hang from the walls, yet the effect looks nice instead of tacky. A few students mingle together on the sidelines, watching the goings-on around them. However, the majority are swaying back and forth to the slow song that's playing.

I glance away from the dance floor and spot all four Cullen "teens" standing nearby. Alice wears an elegant, jet black dress and a ridiculously tall pair of high heels that I doubt a mere human could get around on. And Rosalie has on a red gown with a plunging neckline that probably has ninety percent of the guys in here overheating.

Alice evaluates my current state of appearance with a toothy smile. "That dress is even more perfect for you than I envisioned! Doesn't the color and the lighting in here make it seem as though her skin's glowing, Jasper?" Alice gushes at his side.

Jasper, looking dapper in his tux, nods and smiles faintly at me. "Yes it does."

Wow, three words all in the same sentence. He is very talkative tonight.

Alice squints up at my head, her face tilting on its side. "Though I think maybe I should have added just a few more curls to her hair..."

Edward tugs me closer and interrupts her. "It's perfect."

Her grin rises to radioactive levels when her attention arrives at my feet. "And see, Bella? I told you that the more you walk around in heels the easier it will be. Flats just don't give the same effect as a good pair of heels."

I fight off an eye roll. "The only reason I'm standing upright is because I've been hanging onto Edward all night long."

"Whoa!" I turn my head slightly and catch Emmett eyeing my lower half. "Who knew that sweet little Bella had such great gams?" he bellows in a sonic boom.

My face mimics a fireball as I scan around to see if anyone heard that. Emmett's great at eliciting this reaction out of me - even when he uses old slang terms from a 1940s gangster film. What with my easily triggered blushing episodes and tendency to fall in the most unusual of ways, I think he regards me as a free source of entertainment.

Rosalie whacks the back of his skull. "Try to be a gentleman for once, moron," she glares.

"But I was giving her a compliment," he whines.

"Real men compliment a woman's beauty."

His thick brow ridge lowers. "What? So I should have said she has _beautiful legs_ instead?"

Her eyes briefly clench shut. "You are _hopeless_," she hisses. Snatching his humongous hand, she begins towing him away. "Let's dance before you get the chance to say anything else to humiliate me tonight."

Alice's eyes brighten further. "Yes! Dancing! We've been waiting for you to show up before we lost ourselves in the music." She pauses and gazes back with slightly pouted mouth. "I wish you two would reconsider dancing with us. It would be so much fun."

Edward squeezes my hand. "We'll have a good time. Don't worry about us."

"Yeah. You guys go on ahead and we'll watch," I add.

Heaving a sigh, she takes Jasper's arm and heads to the dance area. "OK," she says in a disappointed little voice.

I feel bad for approximately three seconds. Then I remember that I am staying away from the dance floor for the safety of myself and others. Alice should be thanking me for my consideration.

Edward steers us to a bench and helps me to sit without falling or accidentally flashing my underwear to the world. We sit hand in hand while a few of our friends and acquaintances drift up every so often to say hello. But mostly we watch them dance. I smile when I see the Cullens' unique style. While the modern teens aren't doing anything more advanced than rocking from side to side, the school vampires are doing graceful ballroom steps - making them more noticeable than ever.

When the slow dance ends, a fast and loud song blasts from the DJs speakers. Most of our classmates do a weird, hopping type dance that looks sort of fun. But a couple of people out there dance as though we're at a college rave instead of a high school crawling with chaperones who are all over the age fifty-five. Lauren Mallory grinds her butt into her date and tries to do the sort of moves that would probably make Christina Aguilera blush. The people around them giggle openly at her awkwardness. Meanwhile, her poor date stands with arms frozen at his sides and helplessly looks all around for an escape route. Evidently he isn't having a very good time. If there is such a thing as nonconsensual dancing, I think this may be it.

But I think the expression on Edward's face tops it all. His mouth gaps open inches wide while his eyes reflect a mix of shock and horror. With one finger, I gently close his mouth and try not to laugh at his reaction. I guess this is the first time he has seen raunchy dancing. In 1918, having one hand on your date's hip was probably as titillating as it got.

He has barely recovered from the situation when things out on the dance floor take a different turn. Tyler, balancing two cups of fruit punch, accidentally spills everything he was carrying in the middle of the dance area. Bright red liquid flings onto Lauren, drenching everything from her hair all the way down to her shoes. Her squawking of outrage probably can be heard from the International Space Station. When she runs to the bathroom to dry off, her date scrambles for the exit.

A few songs later, Mike and Jessica stroll up to us. Her excited gaze lands on Edward's face and travels slowly downwards, taking in his appearance in all his tuxedoed glory. She must like what she sees because her eyes are lingering longer than they should considering her boyfriend stands a foot away.

"You look great, Edward!" she compliments once her eyes have had their fill. She gives me a quick glance, as though she just noticed that I am sitting here. "And you look nice too, Bella," she remarks with less enthusiasm.

"Thanks," I mumble.

Then her mouth opens up and she talks for five minutes straight, telling me every gossipy story from the night that she has gathered so far. I feign interest and nod every so often. Mike doesn't say a word, choosing to only look down at me in a strange way that has my nerves at high alert. And Edward stares at Mike with his jaw muscle clenched so tight that a crowbar couldn't crack his mouth open.

"Are you guys gonna go to Justin's party later?" Jessica wonders.

My mouth twists to the side. "I doubt it."

"Oh, come on! He's been planning it for weeks! Tell them, Mike. Tell them how much fun it's gonna be!"

Mike blinks a few times, as if waking up from a dream. His empty face swivels around to her. "What?" he drawls in confusion.

Her eyes revolve in their sockets. "It's like your head's in the clouds tonight. _ I said_, tell Bella and Edward how fun Justin's party is supposed to be. They weren't planning on going."

His tongue moves across his lips. "Oh... Yeah, it's gonna be great. His parents are out of town and everything. And he even talked his older brother into getting a few cases of Bud Lite." He pauses and focuses deliberately on me again. "You should come."

I can't hold in the laugh that slips out. Justin's house is right in the middle of a neighborhood which is comprised of families with young children and several retirees. None of them would likely appreciate having a house party keeping them up until the crack of dawn.

"No thanks," I answer. "The last place I want to be is at a party where there will be drunken high school kids. My dad's a police officer, remember? And the people in this town see everything. I bet you he'll get a noise complaint about them before the first beer can is popped open."

They both stare back as though I just tried to explain quantum mechanics to them.

Edward rises from the bench from which we were sitting and takes my hand, gently encouraging me to stand.

"I think we should go get a drink now that the refreshments line is empty," he remarks casually. He gives Mike and Jessica a small head nod as he wraps his arm around my waist. "Excuse us. We'll try to catch up with you two again later."

Jessica turns on a big smile. "Sure. See ya later."

We maneuver past dancing couples and oblivious students chatting in the middle of the walkway. Edward keeps a firm grip on me, which I am grateful for since walking in these kitten heels is tricky. As we approach the refreshments table, I see that it is manned by Coach Clapp. I'm guessing he was chosen to deflect pranksters away from spiking the punchbowl. He's dressed in a nice polo shirt and khakis, a decidedly different look from his usual sweats and shiny whistle strung around his neck.

But instead of slowing down and stopping, Edward guides us right on by.

"The table's back that way," I remind him with a thumb jerk behind me.

A smile cocks up the side of his mouth. "I know. I just wanted to get away from everyone for awhile. You don't mind if we go outside, do you?"

I shake my head. Alone time always is good in my eyes. "No."

We reach the back door and I inhale the cool outside air. One of the picnic tables that are meant for lunch-time meals - but which usually sits empty thanks to the poor weather - is where he guides us. I lean back on my elbows and gaze up at the sky, only half listening to the music which flows from the gymnasium. It's one of those rare nights when the clouds are scattered around instead of bound tightly together like a wool blanket. You can actually see the stars. And the moon is out too. Its muted, soft beams give just enough light to see by.

"Have I told you how sublimely ethereal you look tonight?" Edward asks, still towering above me.

I glance away from the sky and turn my attention to him. He's watching me closely, both hands slipped inside of his trouser pockets.

"No, but you did mention that I was 'a vision of loveliness' when you first saw me. I was 'charming and gorgeous' at the restaurant. And I was 'breathtakingly exquisite' on the ride here. I think that it's time we have your eyes examined," I smirk.

"I see perfectly well. And so it seems do most of the males that have been fortunate enough to see you tonight."

My nose crinkles up as I give him the side-eye. Yep. This boy definitely needs glasses.

"Edward, no boy in their right mind would bother looking at me when Rosalie is in there gliding around like a modern-day Aphrodite," I remind him in case he suffers from a sudden case of amnesia.

"I am completely sane and I can wholeheartedly confirm that you are unbelievably desirable."

My eyebrow arches at him. "_Unbelievably_? I think that's the key word here."

Observing me a moment, something changes behind his eyes. They sharpen, transforming to deeply penetrating orbs. He bends down and closes in, simultaneously brushing my hair from my shoulders. His mouth comes to rest against the shell of my ear and lingers there.

"I suppose I should spend the remainder of the night convincing you of just how desirable you are then," he whispers.

My whole body breaks out into hundreds of goosebumps. And it's not from the slight chill in the air.

His fingers slip into my hair, cradling the back of my head. Lips attach to my neck and travel in a meandering path until they find my face. The kiss he places at the corner of my mouth is soft but hints at more to come.

But more doesn't happen.

His mouth pulls away from my skin. Then his arms leave me too. I crack my eyes open to see why he stopped, assuming only an emergency situation could be the culprit. But I find no zombie apocalypses or school authority figures lurking around which would explain his abandonment. All I see is Edward just standing there a foot away.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He bows at the waist like an medieval courtier and smiles charmingly. "Asking you to dance - if you don't mind," he replies with an outstretched hand.

My eyelids snap open at this alarming development. "I very much _do_ mind. You promised no dancing!"

His smile stays smugly in place. "I know what I said. I promised that we would not dance _inside_ of the gym. And as you can see, we are outdoors. It's just you, me, and the moon right now. So... May I have this dance?"

I am on the verge of arguing when my mouth clamps shut. He's right. The big sneak arranged his words in just the right way to make me believe I was in the clear concerning the whole dancing thing. Starting now, I guess I should get a lawyer to examine every promise Edward gives so I'll know when I am being tricked.

My head jolts from side to side. "I-I can't. I've never done this before. And I'll fall," I answer while avoiding his eye.

"Falling isn't so bad." He takes my hand and rubs comforting strokes across my knuckles. I peek up and instantly become lost in his gaze. "You may find that falling for me would be something you could enjoy," he adds in a husky purr.

My tongue ties into a double knot. I'm a little woozy too. Sometimes Edward is too smooth for my own good.

While I am discombobulated, he lifts me by the hand into a standing position. I blink back the daze and swallow.

"I wasn't aware that they had pick-up lines back in 1918," I murmur.

"That wasn't a line. It was a hopeful plea," he counters.

Drawing me into his embrace, his arms encircle my waist while I remain stiff and clueless. He sets the rhythm and sways us to the slow song seeping out from inside of the gym. I grudgingly admit to myself that dancing like this is similar to how it feels to be on the front porch swing at home - soothing from the gentle movements, and heart-racing from having Edward hold me tight.

My mouth lowers at the corners. "You don't fight fair. Even when I should be furious with you, you find a way to make it impossible for me to be."

I feel him huff a nearly silent laugh. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more of a cad to you in the future."

Gradually, my arms wrap around his neck and my head falls on a shoulder. He's good at keeping me upright. Heck, who am I kidding? He's good at just about everything. I let out a tiny sigh and relax into him.

"Is tonight as terrible as you imagined? Or were your nightmares of the prom much worse than this?" he jokes into my ear.

I answer him with closed eyes. "I guess this isn't so bad."

"I'm happy to hear it." The slow song ends and another one takes its place. Edward clears his throat. "Do you mind if I make a request?" he wonders.

I back up slightly to scrutinize his face. He tricked me once and it turned out OK in the end. But it won't be happening again tonight.

"It depends on what you want. If your 'request' involves us dancing inside of that gym, then I'm out."

"No, nothing like that. I only ask that you stand completely still."

My face scrunches together but I do as he asks. "OK. Now what?"

Slyly smiling as though hiding a secret, he throws in a wink to hypnotize me. Alarm bells clang in my head.

"Now, just allow me to lead," he directs.

An instant later, I'm crushed up against him with my feet suspended several inches above the grass. The only thing holding me up are his arms. The crook of my elbows lock around his neck until it's almost a choke hold.

"Edward!" I yelp, terrified that I will be slipping out from underneath his grip at any moment.

His lips purse and he blows out a soothing shush, like a mother comforting her child. "Try to relax. I'd like to dance with you properly before the night ends."

The next thing I know, we are on the move. His feet glide across the ground, twirling us around in a dance style that harks back to olden times. I look up and find his eyes closed. A small smile is etched onto his handsome face.

The world around us spins from his dance - but since we're in this together - it's not nearly as frightening. When his steps become more complex, I hang on tighter but don't want it to end. Because, ultimately, I trust him. I find myself giddy from the feeling. The laughter that pours out is pure and genuine.

When I look up again, his eyes are open and glued on to me. The warmth of his fingertips filter through the thin silk of my dress as his arms hold me up by the waist.

At the same moment, a tiny spark of jealousy cocks up my brow. Edward is more advanced than ninety-nine percent of our classmates when it comes to this. He knows how to dance. _Really_ _dance_. He can do a lot more than just rock back and forth. And I doubt back in 1918 he was off spinning around by himself. He probably had a line of girls circling the block, waiting for their chance to waltz with him.

"I thought that you said that you never went to any of those fancy balls, Edward," I accuse.

He keeps on with the fancy footwork, his movements matching the beat of the music. "I didn't. But that never stopped my mother from insisting that I should know how to dance correctly."

A smile replaces my jealousy, picturing Mrs. Masen teaching a young Edward to dance long ago. It took a few decades, but finally he is getting some use from those lessons. I'm sure she is proud, wherever she may be.

"Is there anything you can't do?" I breathe out.

His smile matches my own. "Definitely. I can't stay away from you for one thing."

My heart swells inside of my chest. I want to say something witty to express how I feel. But I can't.

I pull his face towards me and tell him with my lips what I cannot say in words. They move slowly against his, but that is not enough. I seek out more and more, my mouth moving incessantly. Our spinning dance comes to a halt and he focuses everything on me. I know - without a doubt - that I am the luckiest person on the planet.

We're really getting into the moment when a sound like a screaming howler monkey rattles our eardrums. Our mouths break apart to find a nearby figure slamming the gym doors closed.

Edward carefully lowers my feet back to the ground as I stare at the person stomping around on the sidewalk. Another angry scream that rivals a banshee's wail fills the night air.

"_Jessica?_" I say in a puzzled tone.

Jessica stops moving and squints into the darkness. When she catches sight of Edward and me standing off in a grassy area, she releases a disgruntled sigh and marches over.

"What's wrong?" I ask once she arrives.

Her mouth smashes together for a split second. "Nothing! Or everything! I don't know."

I sneak a quick peek at Edward to find him appearing as worried as I am. "Are you OK? You're not hurt, are you?" I say softly.

A small amount of Jessica's tenseness evaporates, her rigid shoulders relaxing. "I'm not hurt or anything like that. I'm just really, really _ticked_ right now," she emphasizes.

"What happened to you?"

She drops onto the bench of the picnic table and her brows crash together, forming a single line. "It's just that I discovered something tonight. Mike's a jerk!"

_Uh-oh. Please, oh please let it be something small and they'll kiss and make up later..._

I sit down next to her while leaving a foot of space between us - just in case she's the type to thrash her arms around when she vents her anger. "What did he do?"

Jessica pivots her face to the side and stares daggers at the gymnasium. "Well, let's see... I told him three weeks ago that I would be wearing a pale pink dress for our prom, so I wanted him to buy me a pink rose corsage to match it, right? Well, guess what he showed up with tonight?" Her wrist shoots up to display the large sunflower attached there. "_This!_ Does this _thing_ look anything like a rose to you? And see how yellow it is? It totally ruins my look!"

I make my face sympathetic even though having a sunflower instead of a rose doesn't sound that horrible to me. "I'm sorry about that, Jess. Mike probably didn't mean any harm though. Maybe the florist ran out of roses."

She snorts and shakes her head. "Yeah, but that's not all he did wrong tonight. He and I were dancing and he kept stepping on my toes." Her feet lift up and turn from one side to the other. The light pink heeled sandals have black scuff marks all over them. "I just bought these last week. Now they look like I dug them out of the dumpster behind the Goodwill."

My face crumples together uneasily. "Maybe he just needs dance lessons?"

She barks out a loud laugh. "But that's not the worst part about what he did tonight, Bella. I had to go sit down to check on the toes that he smashed, and he wandered off to go get me something to drink. So I waited, and waited, and waited for him to come back. After what seemed like forever, I got tired of waiting and went to find him. Guess what he was doing?"

I shrug my shoulders in response.

"He was standing in the corner talking to Stacy White - that's what he was up to!" she screeches. "Did he have my drink? No. Did he care that I was waiting for him to come back? No!"

"Oh, Jess..."

Her shoulders straighten and her dark eyes harden. "So I walked up to him and asked what was taking him so long. He told me that when he was coming back with my drink, he noticed that Stacy was all by herself... And can you guess who he gave my drink to?"

"Stacy?" I answer reluctantly.

"_Bingo_. So I told him that since he was so concerned over her welfare that maybe he should have asked _her_ to the prom instead of me. And do you know what he said?" she grunts, her gaze blazing.

My head shakes in the negative. I wish she would stop asking me questions that only serve to piss her off more...

"Well, he got mad at _me_ and said that maybe I was right! So I told him that we were done. I told him that I was tired of him walking all over me. And all he said to me was '_fine_' before he just walked off."

My mouth falls into a tiny frown. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too," she pouts. "I had planned on having hours and hours of fun tonight... Now look at me. I'm dateless at the prom. This is totally humiliating!"

Standing quietly until now, Edward steps in. "Is there anything we can do?"

Jessica's entire face droops and she gazes off across the school campus. "There's nothing you can do to help me now. I guess I'll just go home and see if there's anything good on TV tonight."

Her despondency increases by the second. Jessica spent a _month_ planning out this day. She had her heart set on an evening of fun and romance. Instead, she broke up with her boyfriend and has a bad case of the blues.

No one should suffer alone like this. We might not be able to do anything about the Mike situation, but we _can_ help lift her out of her depression. She needs to know that there are people here for her support. Since Edward was the one to ask if there was anything we could do to help, I figure he won't mind what I have planned.

Out of her view, I grab Edward's attention. I jerk my head in Jessica's direction, trying to subtly hint for him to ask if she would like to hang out with us. He only blinks back at me. My brows crunch together. I tip my head towards him and then aim it back at Jessica a couple of times, hoping he will catch my drift. All he does is shrug his shoulders in a way which tells me that he has no clue what I want him to do.

I sigh and give up playing charades with him. I'll just have to ask her myself.

"Why don't you stick with us for the rest of the night?" I say out loud. As I speak, more ideas come to me which I figure might brighten her evening. "We can go back inside and talk about anything you want... And I'm sure _somebody_ would dance a little with you." I swing my head back around and my attention lands on Edward. He stands there unmoving, as though he is watching a plane crash and can do nothing to stop it. "I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind-"

His eyes almost pop out from his skull. "I'd be happy to find her a _willing_ partner," he stresses. Then he gives me an unmistakable scowl when she isn't looking.

I narrow my eyes at his uncooperative attitude. We're her friends. Jessica needs us to cheer her up. And here he acts as if giving her one little dance will kill him.

Jessica's face spreads into a smile. "Really? That sounds great!" Her entire body begins to tremble with excitement. "Ooh! We can go to the diner afterwards too! Then we can maybe swing by that party I was telling you about if your dad hasn't busted them yet. What time's your curfew anyway? I don't need to be home until 12:30. I think Jennifer said a bunch of the seniors are driving to PA to watch some late night movie. Maybe we can tag along!" She pauses and stares at us, her lips slightly pursed. "What are you two doing out here, anyway?"

_Oh, nothing much. Edward was only serenading me under the stars and making me forget how to breathe..._

My bottom lip slips under my teeth. "We were just taking a few minutes to relax by ourselves."

Jessica huffs a laugh and jumps up from the bench. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me up to stand along side of her. "But it's so _boring_ out here! All the fun's inside!"

I glance at Edward and find the light in his eyes have dimmed. And the more Jessica's mouth flaps on and on, the more he frowns. But he doesn't argue or complain at all. He is a good boyfriend. I'll have to make this up to him later.

We step through the gym doors and Jessica continues to plan out our night. At the same time, I notice Mike across the gym. He's standing with a group of people, chatting and laughing like he's having a great time.

Something tells me to check on Edward and I discover that his sights are set on Mike. His teeth are gnashing together, too. But my greatest concern are his hands. They are fisted up so tightly that he is going to pop a blood vein if he isn't careful.

I snatch Edward's arm and hold on with all of my strength. If I let go, Mike Newton might be a dead man.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Noise-canceling headphones are awesome. Whenever a family member wanders up to ask where the bread, TV remote, or their shoes are - you can point up to your headphones and say "sorry but I can't hear you" and not be lying. It's very relaxing.**

**Next Chapter****\- It's Edward's first time trying to creep into Bella's house late at night (with her consent, of course). And Bella discovers something that she probably should have anticipated long ago. **

**Hang in there folks and thanks for reading! :-)**


	27. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

**Chapter 27- Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy**

**August 7, 2005**

**00000000000000000000**

It's summer in Forks and I have been kept busy. Right as school let out for vacation break, I obtained a part-time job down at Newton's Olympic Outfitters with the goal of saving up a little money for college. It's an easy position considering that I have absolutely no knowledge of outdoor merchandise. Whenever a customer comes in and asks a question that I can't answer, all I have to do is direct them to one of the Newtons.

Of course, not everyone was thrilled with the idea of me being around Mike so much by myself. Edward has this crazy notion that Mike is still hung up on me. That's ridiculous. Other than those first few days after I was hired, Mike usually keeps his distance. If I'm manning the cash register, he works at restocking the shelves. If I am sweeping the floors at the entrance, he organizes the stockroom in the back. And he's always asking about Edward - like where he is and if he plans on coming by the sporting goods store anytime soon. The only strange part about it all is that whenever Edward does show up, Mike usually barks a quick hello and says that he has to leave to make a special delivery.

When I'm not at work, a majority of my spare time is spent with Edward. We found that reading while cuddled together is a peaceful recreation whenever it rains. And I love going to his house and listening to him play his piano. There are also our weekly trips to Port Angeles so we can get away from small town life for a few hours. We've gone back to Seattle a few times too, but he has a bad habit of trying to spoil me whenever we go there. He seems to live under the delusion that the more he showers me in luxury, the more memorable the date will be. He has so much money to throw around that dining at some snooty restaurant where they charge you fifty bucks just for a salad that has radishes cut in the shape of miniature roses doesn't bother him. So whenever he tries to take us to a place like that, I make him drive us to a fast food place instead. And, as an additional punishment, I pay for our meal. It _really_ hurts him when I do that.

While I don't mind staying busy and working, I admit that these past few days have been extra hard. There was a huge Dwyer family get-together in Wyoming and Mom wanted to introduce me to the members of the clan that couldn't make it to her wedding back in September. Since I hadn't seen her in months, I couldn't say no.

Phil's family is very nice - just like him. They're the type that plays a family board game battle just for the fun of it and scarfs down ambrosia salad as if it's mandatory to eat it at every family reunion. Their sprawling ranch, which has been in the family for five generations, could double as a TV Western backdrop. And they definitely need the space. Every available room in the main house was crammed with visiting relatives. Both of his paternal grandparents were there - plus his parents, two uncles, one aunt, five siblings, nine nieces and nephews, and so many cousins and their extended families that I lost count. Although, it was nice meeting them and I loved spending time with Mom after having been apart for so long, one feeling remained constant throughout my visit - I missed Edward.

So when my plane touched down at the tiny airport in Port Angeles yesterday, I was ecstatic to find that he was my ride back home. I flung myself at him and dreamed of an evening spent within his arms. However, I was less happy once we walked inside of my house to drop off my suitcase. Charlie reported that Mrs. Newton had called twice to see if I had returned from my trip. Turns out that the store's other part-time employee had quit on the spot and she was desperate for help. And to make matters worse, Mike and Mr. Newton were out of town on some camping trip and couldn't be contacted. I was the only person available. I very reluctantly slipped into my uniform and reported for duty instead of snuggling up to Edward as I had planned.

Today wasn't much better. My shift began early this Sunday morning and it wasn't until 4:30 in the afternoon that Mrs. Newton said that I could clock out. Before she can think up anything else that needs to be done, I scramble to the store's parking lot and truck it home to await Edward's arrival. Being away from him for five whole days was torture. Then, after not getting enough of my Edward fix yesterday, my lips are practically tingling from withdrawal. He and I have a lot of catching up to do.

As I drive closer the house, I spot his shiny silver car already parked at the curb. He is waiting for me. Evidently, he is just as impatient as I am to get this show on the road. My pulse races as I imagine the possibilities.

But my anticipative high takes a nose dive once I discover that Charlie is home, too. I had wrongly assumed he would be out fishing until dusk. My mouth puckers into a frown while I park the truck. Alone time has been postponed due to unforeseen circumstances.

I conceal my disappointment and step inside of the house. Charlie is laid back on his leather recliner and urging the guy currently at bat on TV to swing it out of the ballpark. By contrast, Edward sits on the nearby couch and looks about as happy as I do.

"Hey, Bells. You worked later than usual," my father notes once the baseball player strikes out.

I sluggishly pull off my ever-present raincoat and hang it on the rack. "I had to. It was just me and Mrs. Newton again today. She hasn't had the time to hire another worker yet." When I swivel back around, I try not to sound too depressed. "So... are you two enjoying yourselves?"

"Sure. It's a great game. Mariners vs White Sox." He directs a sly smile on Edward. "And we're _crushing_ them," he stresses.

One brow of Edward's cocks up. "I wouldn't call a score of 1 to 0 during merely the first inning as '_crushing_'. The game has barely begun. The White Sox have plenty of time to turn it around."

Charlie snorts and takes a sip from his can of beer. "Sure, kid. Whatever you say."

My eyes dart between the two of them. I see that Charlie managed to suck Edward into watching a game again. The love of baseball is one of the few things about Edward that I do not understand. He can watch any game and know exactly what's going on in around 2.6 seconds. Furthermore, it doesn't bore him to death like it does to me. On the other hand, Charlie and Edward are fervent supporters of the sport. They can sit there and spout detailed analyses of each team in the league, often utilizing baseball terms that only themselves and the Major Leagues care to keep alive. If it wouldn't raise a few red flags concerning his origins, Edward would probably lug his treasured black and white baseball card collection over for Charlie to idolize too.

But since Edward is a Chicagoan first and a Washingtonian second, his limited loyalties to the Seattle Mariners brings up conflict every so often - especially if it's a Chicago vs Seattle game. To combat the problem and stop my father from vaguely insulting my boyfriend, I am sometimes required to step in.

"How does pork chops sound tonight?" I put out there as a distraction.

Charlie's face immediately swings away from taunting Edward. "Yeah. That sounds good."

"It's going to take a while though."

He turns at the waist to set his beer can on the nearby coffee table. "That's fine. I'm in no hurry."

Readying myself to leave the room, I give Edward a subtle head jerk towards the kitchen. Hopefully, he will pick up on my signal.

He peeks at the man sitting on the recliner. When he sees that Charlie is staring keenly at the TV, he rises from the couch with a casual nimbleness that I can only dream about. "I'll help you," he offers.

"OK. Thanks," I agree straight-faced. Edward knows how to cook about as well as Charlie does - which means basically not at all. If my dad wasn't busy concentrating on the baseball player who keeps striking out, he would likely remember that.

Edward silently follows me into the back of the house. In the time it takes for the kitchen door to swing open and closed, he has me pressed against him and gasping for breath. My eyes snap shut to allow the blissful sensation of having his lips on mine soothe away all of the stress I have been under lately.

Edward and I don't normally behave this way when my dad is home. If Charlie were to walk in and find Edward all over me like this, it would likely traumatize each and every last one of us for the remainder of our lives. Dad and I would never be able to look the other in the eye again. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I need this. _Badly_. Edward and I have no choice but to break our self-imposed rule - at least for today.

Edward pulls back an inch and sucks in a breath. "Five days... Too long," he pants.

I whimper a little and grab his face, setting his mouth back in place where it belongs. Less talking, more kissing is my new motto. We can talk later.

"Bells?" Charlie calls from the living room. "You mind bringing another beer? I'm running low."

Our lips and hands simultaneously come to a standstill. It's easy to lose yourself in the moment when you have someone like Edward around. It's also easy to forget that the only things currently keeping your father from investigating what's going down in the kitchen are beer and baseball. And if he runs out of the former, or if the latter goes on a commercial break, our safety net is gone.

I unenthusiastically step away from Edward and gaze up into his eyes. I can see a trace of acceptance within them, as though he has already guessed what I am about to say.

My face contorts in pain. "After dinner?"

Limply smiling, he nods and pulls out a chair at the table. Now we must wait. _Again_. But once Charlie has a full belly, I am sure things will settle down around here. The man usually doesn't move from his recliner after dinner unless there's a fire threatening to burn down the house. That means Edward and I can pick right back up from where we left off. I'll just have to I keep my hormones in check until then.

Fifteen minutes later, the pork chops are seasoned and sizzling in a pan. I stand at the stove and flip them whenever necessary. Edward balked at my suggestion of returning to watch the game. He instead volunteered for potato peeling duty since mashed potatoes are on the menu. Using a paring knife, his fingers carefully strip way their skin. My bottom lip wedges under my canine as I watch. It's oddly riveting how he handles them. And tantalizing. I admit being jealous of the attention he devotes to this task is reaching to the heights of insanity. But, sadly, that potato he holds has had more physical contact with my boyfriend than I have lately. With that under consideration, I'd say that I have the right to be a little crazy.

The sound of Charlie moving around in the living room soon drifts to the kitchen. I don't pay it much mind at first, although I am somewhat curious when the front door opens and closes. Charlie abandoning a ballgame without dinner or a medical emergency being involved is a rare event.

Around a minute goes by before I hear him return. I continue about my business at the stove, assuming he had a quick errand to do - like retrieve his police radio from the car or yell at the neighbors' dog to stop peeing in our yard. His footsteps tromp through the house, sounding louder than usual.

"_Yum_. Looks like I got here just in time."

My body tenses up stiff as a board. That isn't Charlie. This voice is deeper, and with a touch of cockiness in its tone that my dad doesn't possess.

I twist away from the stove and my eyes stretch open to their limits. In the hallway that links the kitchen to the rest of the house stands a stranger. A _giant_ stranger. This man is so tall that his head almost hits the ceiling. Along with a smirk, he wears a white sleeveless t-shirt and blue jean cut-off shorts.

The man throws his head back and brays a loud laugh. "Wow, Bella. I think that's the best reaction I've gotten so far. I wish I'd brought a camera," he snickers.

The area between my eyebrows puckers out. This guy obviously knows me even though I have never laid eyes on him before. I think I would remember running into a guy who sports biceps almost the size of my own head.

Still grinning, he squeezes his body through the doorway. He saunters closer to where I stand and positions himself a few paces away. "Let me guess. You don't recognize me? Do you?"

Almost on autopilot, my head rocks from side to side.

He cocks his head off kilter and folds his arms across his broad chest. "I've changed a little since the last time we saw each other, so I guess I'll forgive you. Remember First Beach? You and I had a nice chat by the bonfire?"

It takes a second or two for me to put the pieces together. Then I gasp loud enough to be heard throughout the house. "Jacob?"

His posture straightens, increasing his height further. "The one and only," he boasts.

My eyes frantically look him up and down, studying the changes that have occurred in only around four months time. This man looks _nothing_ like the boy I met back in March. That Jacob had long hair, a young and friendly face, and arms not much more impressive in dimensions than my own. But _this_ Jacob has a short haircut, a smug smile, and arms similar to an oak tree's trunk.

"B-b-but _how_? You're so much... And Jacob was so..." I trail off, unable to form an intelligent sentence.

Jacob shrugs a shoulder, like the fact that he miraculously grew at least twelve inches so quickly is no big whoop. "What can I say? I have great genes - it just took time for them to activate."

I take another body scan of him and frown slightly. I've heard that some people don't grow very much as kids and then shoot up in size once puberty strikes. But that occurs over many years - not just a few months time.

Tucking a clump of hair behind my ear, I try to recapture my composure. "Oh. Um. Well...congratulations on the growth spurt then. And - uh - nice seeing you again," I say lamely.

He snorts another laugh. "It's nice seeing you, too," he mimics.

As he stands there peering down at me, his smirk inexplicably fades into nothing. His face goes nearly expressionless. He moves in closer, leaving only a few inches to separate the two of us. In response, I back up until my spine hits the countertop. Dark eyes squint down, staring unblinking into mine. It feels faintly invasive, like he is trying to see into my soul but can't find a way in.

"W-w-what are you doing?" I stammer.

Almost as soon as it began, the creepy vibe surrounding him slackens off and is replaced with a light sigh. He backs away a couple of feet and purses his mouth.

"Did you feel anything just then? Like, an invisible tie binding us together or...?" he presses, rolling his hand encouragingly.

I blink at him several times before I speak. "No," I drag out. At the same time, I'm checking his wrists for signs of a hospital bracelet. I don't see any, but maybe he took them off once he escaped the facility that had been performing medical experiments on him. Mental instability is probably a side effect from sudden, unexplainable growth spurts.

Jacob's head nods listlessly a time or two. "Yeah. Me neither. I had to try, though. I was kinda hoping that _you_ would be the one. But I guess I can't have everything..."

He pauses for a moment and stares until the gleam in his eyes return. Gradually, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "_Unless_," he emphasizes. Jacob meanders his way back into my personal space and gives a leering smile. "I'm thinking maybe we didn't give it enough time. You doing anything tonight? I can take you up to Lookout Point and we can try again. My car is roomy enough for-"

A low, grumbling growl permeates the kitchen, thankfully interrupting... whatever _this_ is.

Jacob cranes his neck around until he discovers the figure sitting rigidly at the dinner table. Edward's unsmiling gaze is locked solely upon the giant man towering above me. He is currently squeezing the potato he had been peeling in a death grip and making me concerned that he plans on hurling it at Jacob's head.

"Oh. Didn't see you there, Edward," Jacob smirks, seemingly unaware of the tension building in the room. "Bella got you doing manual labor in exchange for dinner? I guess eating at a friend's house is the only option if you don't want to starve, huh? Hey, I don't blame you. There can't be much of a variety for folks like you down at _Casa de Cullen_. They're still on that all liquid diet, right?" he ends in a sarcastic snicker.

A fire continues to rage in Edward's eyes. I am getting a strong inkling that his restraint is wearing dangerously thin.

"Boyfriend," I blurt out.

Jacob's face snaps back. "What?"

"He isn't just a friend. He's - um - _my_ _boyfriend_," I pointedly hint, hoping this will convince Jacob to back up and give me some breathing room.

Jacob's eyes dart back and forth between our faces, his black eyebrows furrowing. "Huh... I never expected that you guys would have made it for _this_ long," he mumbles in faint surprise. Then, abandoning his musings, he shrugs and huffs out a laugh. "Oh well... it's great that you two beat the odds against you, I guess."

Edward's steely gaze remains nearly unchanged. "Thank you," he monotones.

A hand roughly the same size as a black bear's swoops in and lands on the skillet to my left. Despite the hot temperature of the stove, Jacob easily tears off a bite of pork chop and shoves it in. He chews for a moment, making a smacking noise that has me wishing he would do me a favor and eat with his mouth closed.

"Hmm. Pretty good, Bella. Needs more salt though," he concludes once it's gulped down.

When Jacob reaches for the skillet again, a rush of exasperation floods through my system. I didn't spend the last fifteen minutes standing by this stove just so Jacob can eat everything up and critique it afterwards.

The metal tongs I hold whacks against his knuckles. He doesn't yelp out in pain as I would have liked, but it does stop him before he can touch the pork chop again.

I glare up at him and speak through my teeth. "Quit stealing our food."

"What? I'm only seeing how it tastes," he complains.

"It's not finished cooking yet. Don't you see that it's still pink? Ever hear of parasitic worms? You're going to get sick."

Before I can react, his hand slips past me again and nabs another chunk from the pan. "Nah," he chomps. "I'm made from tougher stock than that. I eat like this all the time now. The rarer the meat, the better."

Edward rises from the dinner table and strolls over. Taking up a position on my other side, he crosses his arms and leans his lower back against the countertop, observing Jacob for a short time before he decides to speak. "That's very interesting to hear. By any chance, are you dining on fresh elk with Sam Uley much these days?"

"Sam?" I repeat, scrunching my forehead. Back in March, Jacob didn't have much love for Sam. He referred to Sam as a cult leader and said the guy was crazy. Looking back, I understand how it could seem that way.

Keeping his focus centered on Jacob, Edward gives a head nod. "Yes. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that Jacob is running with Sam's pack now."

My head swings around and studies Jacob in a new light. I may have only met Sam and Paul that one time at La Push, but that was enough for me to remember them clear as day even months later. Jacob is freakishly tall like Sam, has bulging muscles like Sam, and kind of makes you want to slap that cocky arrogance off his face - just like Paul.

Yep. It checks out. Jacob Black is a wolf now.

Jacob's head jerks back as though Edward threw a punch. "Wait a minute. Are you saying... that Bella _knows_," he stresses.

Edward stares back with a poker face. "Of course. I told her everything. What with the way my life is liable to turn on a dime, she deserved to know the truth. So that is what I gave her. It would be unsafe for her otherwise."

"And she doesn't care that you live in a house full of leeches?" Jacob questions with both brows raised.

My lips press together - struggling to hold in my irritation - but it spews out anyway. "_She_ thinks they are among the nicest, friendliest people you could ever come across." Then I scowl at Jacob dead in the eye. "And, _unlike some people_, at least they don't go barging inside of people's houses and eat their food without asking first."

Jacob's mouth gapes open. That lasts for approximately five seconds. By degrees, the shocked look dissipates and transforms into something else. A low and unexpected chuckle begins shaking his shoulders. Next comes a full-on belly laugh. It isn't long before he is bent over slightly at the waist and heaving.

"Ah, man! I can't believe this! The guy who lives with _blood suckers_ finds the one girl on Earth who doesn't care and thinks they're delightful companions! Now I've heard it all!" he guffaws.

When his amused laughter eventually ebbs, Jacob knits his eyebrows together and directs his sights on Edward. "So, why didn't you let Sam or my dad know that you told her? Didn't your side agree to notify us whenever something important happens around here?"

Edward's eyes narrow just enough to hint at his annoyance. "_Your_ side agreed to those terms as well. Yet no one bothered to inform the Cullens of a few intriguing things either - such as your remarkable transformation and subsequent induction into the wolf pack."

Jacob scrunches his face and glances down at the floor. "Good point."

His subdued demeanor doesn't last for long. As he studies Edward and I, his lips perk up into a smile again. "Well...this is _good_ news, I guess. Two regular people know all the secrets of this town and haven't called the FBI or Dateline NBC yet... You know, I've barely spoken with anybody outside of my pack in weeks. And when I do, it sucks that I have to constantly watch what I say. With you guys, I can be myself. That's kinda awesome... We should hang out more."

This train of thought suddenly stops and changes track. Standing taller, an excited glint brightens Jacob's eyes. He leans in, like he has another secret he wants to share. "Hey... You guys wanna see something cool? I'm the fastest at switching to wolf form, but no one except my pack and my dad has ever seen it before. I'll show you!" he bellows, reaching to grab the hem of his t-shirt.

"No!" Edward shouts. His hands simultaneously entrap my waist and steer me behind him, partially blocking my view of Jacob.

"What's wrong?" I wonder, poking his shoulder blade to get his attention.

Edward blows out one, deep breath and turns his head just enough to see my face. "I am not comfortable with him flexing his shape-shifting capabilities in the presence of a lady. Not only is it dangerous to bystanders in the sense that he could accidentally harm you, there is also the real possibility that you would be subjected to see more than what you had originally bargained for." His top lip briefly curls up at Jacob. "The morphing from human to wolf is done _without_ clothing," he reveals in a low growl.

My eyes bulge out from their sockets. If that's the price of seeing Jacob in giant wolf form, I think I'll pass.

For the first time since arriving here today, Jacob frowns. "I wasn't gonna do it right in front of you guys. My plan was to go behind a tree and come back here once I shifted."

"Oh, how considerate of you," Edward deadpans. "That would certainly make for interesting fodder come the next neighborhood watch meeting. Just think of the things Mrs. Bryson from next door would have new to report."

The front door slams shut in the living room. All three of us go silent. Having Charlie overhear our odd chitchat wouldn't be easy to explain away.

"Where are you boy?" yells a throaty voice.

"In the back," Jacob calls in return.

The sound of wheels faintly squeaking moves closer as the person continues to speak. "You were supposed to help Charlie bring in those damn beets Sue keeps nagging us to eat. Instead you run off before I can even get out of the car."

"It's just one basket full. I figured he could handle it on his own," answers Jacob.

Soon a wheelchair-bound man rolls into the kitchen. With his prominent cheekbones and dark eyes, his face looks instantly familiar. I haven't seen Billy Black in years, but somehow he looks almost the same as he did back when I was ten years old.

Billy spots the three of us standing near the stove. He stares, taking more time observing Edward than the rest.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he questions sharply.

"I could very well ask you the same thing," Edward fires back in a heartbeat.

Jacob barks a laugh. "Cool it, Dad. They're seeing each other."

Billy's eyebrows rocket up to the top of his forehead. His wide eyes land on my face peeking out from over Edward's shoulder and remain there.

"May I speak with you alone?" he presses.

I maneuver around Edward and position myself at his side. "No thanks. Anything you want to say to me will have to be said around Edward, too."

In spite of the Cullens' new partnership with the Quileute tribe, Edward privately confided his belief that Billy still harbors deep suspicion of the "vegetarian" vampires of Forks. He spent decades hating them - it isn't likely that feeling will disappear overnight. And I guess since Edward has aligned with them, Billy doesn't feel comfortable around him either.

Billy gives a quick side glance at Edward. "Fine," he huffs, focusing back on me. "As the daughter of one of my closest friends, I view you both as family. Your safety is important to me. I need for you to understand that you are putting your life at great risk. Those... _Cullens_ that boy chooses to hang around with are not what they may seem to be. They are a fraud. You cannot trust them completely."

"_Dad_," chimes in Jacob. "She already knows what they are. Crazy, huh?"

Billy's skin color fades a few shades. "What?"

Jacob steals another chunk of meat from the pan and chuckles as he eats it. "Edward already let the cat out of the bag. Or, maybe saying that he let the _vampire_ out of the coffin is more appropriate."

Billy doesn't laugh or find the situation funny like his offspring. "Is this true, Bella?" he frowns.

My head moves up and down. "Yes."

"She knows about the pack too," Jacob announces breezily.

The right hand on the armrest of the wheelchair grips down harder. A wild look appears behind Billy's eyes, which he aims directly at Edward. "You broke the treaty! You had no right to reveal our secrets," he snarls.

Edward's neck muscles briefly tense. "I believe that you are mistaken there," he retorts evenly. "The treaty states that the _vampires_ must not divulge the tribe's secrets. No where does it say that I cannot inform my significant other of the potentially dangerous wolf/human shape-shifters that could pop out at any moment."

"They aren't as dangerous as you make them sound. Each one of them has worked hard at building their self-control," argues Billy.

"Likewise for the Cullens - as you already know," Edward points out. "Yet not more than a minute ago you were hinting to Bella that they are not human and could be perceived as a threat. It appears that we are _both_ guilty of the crime of informing her of the possible dangers lurking around Forks."

Jacob covers his mouth and snickers. "He's got you there, Dad."

All that garners out of Billy is a fierce glower at his son.

Jacob's mouth turns down at the corners. "Well, it's true. It's not like Sam and Jared didn't tell their girlfriends about everything too."

The front door abruptly creaks open in the living room. The kitchen confrontation slams to a halt. We each pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary and that we weren't just arguing over anyone's supernatural discriminations.

Charlie appears in the kitchen toting a large wicker laundry basket filled to the top with beets. Dropping it on the floor, he drags out a chair and flops down onto it. "They rolled out of the basket during the drive. They were scattered all over the trunk. Took forever to round 'em up," he breathes laboriously.

Billy shoots Jacob another dirty look, this time appearing more embarrassed than anything else. "Sorry about that. I should have thought to ask Jake to help you."

Charlie waves the suggestion off with his hand. "No, no. It's fine. He drove the free food here. The very least I could do was bring it inside." He pauses to stare at the basket. "And please tell Sue that I said thanks for the potatoes. We eat 'em a lot around here."

I hold in a exasperated sigh. "Those are beets, Dad. Not everything is a potato."

Charlie's mustache wilts into a frown. "Oh," he mumbles without enthusiasm. Since beets have a reputation of being a healthy food choice, he probably has avoided them his entire life. Unless the vegetable is fried or has gravy and cheese to cover its taste, he usually crinkles his nose up at it. But his prejudice won't stop me. I'll just bake a casserole sometime soon and sneak a few beets in there. He'll never know the difference.

To thank the Blacks for their gift, Charlie invites them to stay for dinner. I always make plenty, so I don't complain. However, the same can't be said of Jacob when he discovers what's on his plate. The pork chop he had been ripping bites from earlier rests there. All that's left is its bone, a strip of fat, and a nibble or two of its meat. I'm not giving him another one. That'll teach him that pilfering food around here is a bad idea.

The five of us sit around the table and make polite conversation. Everything is fine until Charlie mentions to me that Esme dropped off a batch of cookies for us this morning while I was at work. The tension in the room immediately returns. I watch Billy's face harden back to a scowl.

Edward remains unusually quiet after that. He listens in closely to the conversation around us, his eyes switching from Billy to Charlie every few seconds. It's as though he anticipates Billy will spill the secret that he lives with the Undead and will then be banned from stepping foot into this house.

My knee bumps against his leg, knocking his concentration free from his obsessive surveillance. He turns away from the mundane fishing story my dad is sharing and finds my faint smile. Edward should know by now that even if Charlie were to find out everything and throw a fit, nothing will change. That wouldn't stop me from seeing him. Releasing his pent-up breath, he gives a quick nod of the head and resumes eating.

Thankfully, Billy never says a word to Charlie that he shouldn't. Maybe it's because he understands that it isn't his place to interfere with my chosen way of life. Though it's more likely that he's worried that if he told Charlie about the existence of vampires in Forks, I would then be informing my dad of a few things too. Like, that a werewolf-wannabe just gnawed the marrow out of a pork chop bone while sitting at our dinner table. Either way, I'm glad things worked out for the best.

When dinner ends, I assume that the Blacks will say their goodbyes and leave. But since my luck is lousy as of late, Charlie asks if they want to watch the remainder of the baseball game "with us". A large part of me wants to curl into the fetal position and weep in the corner. Not only is my father unwittingly depriving me of my alone time with Edward tonight, he also expects me to sit here and watch grown men on TV try to whack at a little ball with a stick. What did I ever do to him that's so terrible to deserve this degree of punishment?

Billy parks his wheelchair by my dad's recliner and helps himself to the beer can stash on the coffee table. Meanwhile, Jacob hogs more than half of the couch due to his large size, forcing Edward and me to make due with the space that's left. Charlie fills them in on what happened earlier during the baseball game and makes it a point to add that Edward is a native of Chicago. Since the game is Mariners vs White Sox with a score of 2 to 1 so far, the three of them good-naturedly heckle Edward for his team preferences. Edward explains that while he enjoys watching the White Sox play, he is actually a die-hard Cubs fan at heart. Jacob laughs so hard that his face turns purple. The next five minutes is spent taunting Edward for supporting a baseball team that hasn't won a World Series game in almost one hundred years. Edward slips on a smile and reminds them that the Seattle Mariners have been around since the '70s and have yet to even make it past the playoffs. That shuts them up.

The White Sox end up winning the game, sending Charlie's spirits spiraling downwards. Billy and Jacob try to assure him that the Mariners will do better next time. They each speak in hushed tones, as if someone in their family just died. I really don't get the appeal of baseball.

When the Blacks decide that it's time to go home, Edward pulls me over to say goodnight too. I don't want him to go but I have to work in the morning. I wouldn't mind losing a couple of hours sleep if it means that I can finally snag some private time with him, though there's a problem with that. Charlie has to work tomorrow as well, and having Edward stay over any later tonight wouldn't make him a happy camper. He prefers to have the house free of visitors and boyfriends by around nine o'clock. Plus, if I leave the house with Edward, my dad will feel obligated to stay up until I walk through the door again. And I know that the man needs his sleep. Tomorrow could very well be the day that something important occurs within the Forks city limits. The police chief should be wide awake for that possibility - however slim of a chance it may be.

Edward stands by his car and rubs circles on my back. I make a promise to myself that I won't make a scene to express how upset I am. So, I stick to pitifully clinging to his overshirt like a baby spider monkey and pouting.

"I'm sorry about tonight," I breathe out sadly.

He gazes back with soft eyes. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. It may not have been the evening we had been hoping for, but at least we were together."

"Yeah. I guess you're right," I agree. But another frown appears nonetheless. "I still hate it though. We barely had a moment to ourselves. What if the same thing happens tomorrow? And the night after that, too? We might forget how this kissing thing works."

That crooked smile emerges as he strokes my cheek with his thumb. "I wouldn't mind relearning it again."

My bottom lip slides under a tooth, biting down hard. It would be so easy to just yank his face down here and attack him with everything I have. Unfortunately, my dear Father is only twenty feet away. He chats with Billy through the passenger window while Jacob shoves the collapsed wheelchair into the back of their car.

I raise my eyes to Edward again. "I _hate_ this," I repeat in a whine.

His smile vanishes. Gradually, his attention moves over to my dad and then back to me. "Bella, what time does Charlie go to bed?"

"Usually by ten if it's a work night."

"And how long does it take for him to fall asleep?" he wonders.

A shoulder raises up and down. "I don't know exactly. Quickly, I guess. I hear him snoring by 10:30 on most nights. Why?"

He flashes a grin again and moves it to my ear. "I can be back. At 10:30 on the dot. _If_ that sounds agreeable to you."

I glance behind myself to ensure no one is around. "That sounds great - but what about Charlie? I'm bound to wake him up when I walk downstairs." My clumsiness inevitably kicks in at the worst possible times. Through a countless number of embarrassing experiences, I have learned to accept this fact.

He shakes his head and whispers. "That isn't part of the plan. _I_ will be the one coming to _you_. As long as you behave as you normally would, he will never suspect. All you will be required to do is wait for me in your room."

"But how would that even work? It's not like you can just sneak inside of the house and waltz upstairs. Charlie will hear it. And he sleeps with a _gun_ on the nightstand," I remind him.

"Do you want me to come back tonight?"

"Of course I _want_ you to. But that doesn't mean that it's safe for you to do so."

"That settles it then. I will be here at 10:30 and find a way to you. Agreed?"

"I don't know, Edward," I hesitate, furrowing my brow. "What if something goes wrong? What if Charlie decides to stay up late? What if-"

Edward silences me with his lips, giving me a lot to mull over in a very short period of time. He pulls away much, much too soon.

I gasp for breath and stare into his eyes. "See you at 10:30."

**00000000000000000000**

I tried not to arouse Charlie's suspicions. I did boring things to lessen his interest, like washing the dirty dishes and brushing my teeth. He never suspected a thing.

The only stumbling block of the night was my pajama problem. There was a cringe-worthy moment when I reached into a drawer and pulled out the t-shirt I usually sleep in. It's so old that the fabric has ripped in places and is stained in others. I couldn't imagine myself looking about as attractive as a city bus floor while around Edward. So I scoured through my clothes and came up with a peach tank top and pajama bottoms. It's not perfect, but it's better than the alternative.

After my nighttime rituals were complete, I went to my bedroom to wait. That's where I have been ever since. Charlie stuck his head into my room right before ten o'clock. I was prepared for this contingency. I sat with crossed legs on my bed and had a book on my lap to simulate reading. He wished me a quick goodnight and shut the door. After he left, I went back to what I had really been doing - which was compulsively watching the clock countdown to 10:30.

At 9:53, Charlie entered the bathroom.

At 9:57, he exited the bathroom and his bedroom door closed.

At 10:22, his lawnmower snore cranked up.

Charlie is out like a light. Part one of the plan is a success.

At 10:31, the leaves of the huge tree outside of my window begins shaking. It isn't rare for that to happen when it's raining and the wind picks up. But there is no rain tonight.

I go to investigate and pull back the lacy, sheer curtains. The overcast sky casts blackness upon the front yard, leaving only the nearby street lamp to illuminate the area. It gives just enough light for me to see that I should be furious.

Flinging open my window, my eyes narrow on the shadowy figure climbing the tree. "What are you doing?" I hiss as softly as possible. I may be mad right now, but speaking above a whisper isn't worth the risk of waking up Charlie.

Edward keeps one arm wrapped around the tree trunk and lowers himself down to sit on a thick limb. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he quips casually.

"Finding a creative way to break your neck!" It's at least a twenty foot drop.

"All there is for me to do is climb out on this limb as far as I can and reach for your windowsill. I can pull myself in."

The tree limb he refers to tapers in size as it nears my bedroom window. I wouldn't trust it to hold up a piñata.

"But that's dangerous!" I gasp.

He pauses to establish eye contact. "Have you no faith in me?"

"Sure I do. But have you ever considered that maybe you are putting too much of your '_faith_' in a tree whose branches aren't much stronger than a matchstick?"

Edward's head cocks to the side slightly, deepening his gaze. "Do you want me with you tonight or not?"

"Yes."

"Then stop fretting over the details and let me handle this." He makes himself comfortable on the limb and lets go of the tree trunk. He takes the time to gauge with his eyes the distance which separates us and soon begins his trek in earnest. Strong arms grip the branch, dragging his lower half along the way. The further he leaves the safety of the tree trunk, the more the branch sways. And the more the branch sways, the more of my fingernail gets chomped off by my teeth.

A noise chirps right as Edward makes it a quarter of the way across. With his thighs squeezing the limb, he rummages for his cellphone. He pauses to check the screen, gives the device the stink eye, and stuffs it into his pants pocket. Then, without an explanation, he begins inching backwards towards the tree trunk again.

I have a sneaking suspicion concerning what just went down, but I have to ask regardless. "Who was that?"

Edward halts his progress and reluctantly meets my gaze. "Alice."

"And what did she say?"

The corner of his mouth tips down. "That the limb will break at the halfway point and that I would be spending the next two months in a leg cast."

I give a nod and allow him to continue climbing down. Alice's visions can be annoying sometimes when she sees something private and/or embarrassing. But tonight I am eternally grateful for her intrusive talent.

Edward makes quick work of reaching the bottom of the tree. With a few feet left to go, he relaxes his grip and lands on his feet like a gymnast. Two seconds barely pass by before his eyes start scanning the outside of the house. They soon focus on the front porch, rise to its overhang, and follow the house's trim to where it passes underneath my window three feet away. I am _very_ afraid of what that may mean.

He takes exactly two steps towards the porch. Then his cellphone chimes another text message.

"Alice again?" I guess.

He extracts the phone and gives a nod.

"So what did she say this time?"

As he reads the message, his face falls. With his mouth now set in a hard line, he puts away the phone and makes a confession. "That if I even contemplate climbing on top of the porch roof, she will be informing Esme," he grumbles.

Though I'm not sure what Alice foresaw, I'm sure it didn't end well. That porch overhang isn't the most sturdy structure. If a squirrel who ate too many acorns lately were to hop up there, it would probably collapse under its weight. But I have to hand it to Alice - her threat was perfect. There is nothing worse to Edward than when Esme has a freak out over his well-being. If she caught him trying to Spider-Man his way up my house, he would never hear the end of it. I wish I had come up with the idea.

With his hands in his pockets, he glowers at the house. I keep my mouth shut and wait for his next bright idea. What's he going to do? Lasso a rope around the chimney and shimmy down the flue like Santa Claus?

It isn't long before he's staring at the front porch area again. His scowl transforms into a roguish grin, heightening my concerns. He strolls up to the front porch and climbs the steps, disappearing from my viewpoint. I bend my neck out of the window to check what he is up to now. I catch a glimpse of his hand sliding along the eave in one swift movement. Our house key appears between his fingers.

Oh no.

I try to keep my voice low despite my surging panic. "Edward, no! You can't just barge through the front door! _Charlie_ _will hear you_!"

All he does in response is place a finger at his smirking lips. Then the door unlocks and he slips inside of the house.

As quietly as possible, I close the window and tiptoe my way to the bedroom door. I open it slowly and squint into the darkness. Edward is already at the bottom of the stairs and working his way up. He climbs slowly but stealthily - like a cat burglar - prompting me to wonder where he picked up this particular ability. Everything is OK until he reaches the top. The last stair creaks loud enough to wake the dead. My teeth gnash together in a grimace. He stands rooted in place, one foot poised midair. Both of our heads whip around to monitor Charlie's door.

Nothing happens.

Snores continue to leak out into the hallway. I clamp my eyes shut and say a silent thank you to all that beer Charlie drank tonight. It wasn't enough to make him drunk or hungover, but it was just the right amount to mimic the effects of a sleeping potion.

Edward puts his long legs to good use, crossing the space between himself and my bedroom in two giant steps. He gently closes the door behind him and spins around. There's a tiny scratch on the bridge of his nose and at least two dead leaves stuck to the top of his head.

"There. That wasn't too difficult, now was it?" he whispers.

I give him the side-eye. "You almost died. _Twice_."

He sweeps my hand into his and turns up the charm - and not to mention the heat in his eyes. "It was well worth the risk. I assure you," he purrs.

My irritation burns out from the onslaught. I allow him to tug me close and nuzzle my hair. "You scared me, you know," I complain within a mumble. "I thought you were going to loose your grip and fall out of that tree at any moment."

"Impossible. A large part of my childhood was spent climbing trees and giving Mother mild heart attacks in the process. I was the best in my neighborhood, and I still remember _all_ of the tricks. If I wasn't so heavy now, I'm certain I would have made it to your window." His light chuckles fill my ear. "But I think I like this way better. Sneaking into the house right under the police chief's nose is simpler. And, much more amusing."

I snort a soft laugh. "Yeah. Right. You can say that now because he didn't catch you red-handed. But if he were to find out that you're in my bedroom unsupervised, Charlie would shoot first and ask questions later."

He skims his nose up and down my neck several passes. "I won't tell if you won't," he murmurs into the hollow of my throat.

Both eyes roll happily into the back of my head. My ability to speak is reduced to a moan. Hopefully, my dad won't hear that either. This is the first time Edward has been in my room without Charlie's knowledge and the door flung wide open. We can finally relax without my dad hovering nearby. This opens up some very intriguing scenarios.

While my exposed shoulders occupy Edward's attention, I lead him to sit on the edge of my bed. In an eye blink, he ensnares my waist, pulls me onto his lap, and sucks in my bottom lip. He proceeds to drag out a lingering kiss, putting me through exquisite torture. I can't believe I survived five days away from that mouth.

I become lost in the moment. All of my anxiety and worries are set free. There is no one awake to bust in and interrupt. It's only him and me right now. I hear nothing but his soft groans and heavy breaths. I see and feel nothing but his lips teasing mine. We can finally enjoy our time together in a way that I have only ever dreamed about before.

Our mouths stay connected while I shove down the button-up overshirt from his shoulders. I toss it to the side and fondle his v-neck t-shirt. Ordinarily, I love this style of clothing on him. It's casual and attractive, yet it's tight enough in just the right places to give my eyes something nice to stare at obsessively. But my lust-filled brain whispers that things would be _much_ more interesting around here if I were to get rid of the thing. I don't argue with the logic. My brain knows what it's talking about this time.

My hands head straight to the bottom hem of his t-shirt and slowly peels it up. I've only yanked it up a few inches when he backs away from our kiss. I prepare to protest until I realize that he is only stopping to whip the t-shirt off from over his head. He throws it without a care across the room and it falls to the floor.

Now, Edward and I have seen and done a lot in the few months we have known one other. And I have gotten to know him well. But in all that time, I never knew that he had perfection hidden underneath his t-shirt. I feel so stupid. Why didn't I persuade him to take this off sooner? This discovery should have been made ages ago.

Catapulting myself at him, I knock him into a horizontal position on the bed, leaving our legs to dangle partially off the side. I land on top and quickly recapture his lips. Before I can get lost in the moment again, I give my fingers full permission to go have fun exploring this new, uncovered territory. They find smooth skin over lean, hard muscle. They travel over a narrow waist and circle around his navel. And through experimentation, they figure out that scraping my fingernails lightly over his abdomen produces a sound within him that's easier on the ear than any song I have ever heard.

Everything about him feeds my craving, but it also leaves me hungry for more. _Much_ more. He and I have been affectionate plenty of times. In some areas, we are practically experts. Yet, to be honest, we haven't done too much that would overly upset any parental figure. Without even needing to discuss it first, we have taken things very slow. Early on when our relationship was new, I appreciated Edward for not pushing me to do anything too advanced. Though, almost five months later, I'm thinking it's time to step things up.

Edward has never taken it upon himself to see if I am ready for more. He continues to do variations of the things we have always done. So far he has rounded first base, made a brief appearance at second base once or twice, but has never even tried sliding anywhere near the home plate. The very fact that I am willing to use baseball terminology in reference to our lack of intimacy proves two points. Number one: that I watched way too much of that ballgame tonight. And two: I am ready for more. I love him. He loves me. So, why not? All I need to do is let him know.

His midsection currently is trapped underneath my straddled legs, however that doesn't stop him from taking the lead. His lips wander away from mine and onto a spot located behind my ear. As they ghost over my skin, my eyelids flutter closed. It feels incredibly good. If I had been standing on my own two feet, I probably would have passed out.

I stifle a moan and run my fingers through his perfect, messy hair. "Edward?"

"Hmm?" he grunts, his lips never leaving my flesh.

"I'm ready. F-for more," I explain as steadily as I can. It's hard to speak when his mouth is on me and doing stuff. My natural instincts are to groan and/or squeal.

His head collapses back to the bed and meets my stare. "What?" he pants, his chest heaving.

From my position on top, one finger glides over his pecs and traces around a nipple. There's a little shyness trying to creep back in, but I am determined to get this out. It's important.

"I want more. With you. I'm ready."

His eyes move back and forth, scanning over my face. My confession hangs in the air between us. Bronze eyebrows slowly lift with surprise. "Really? Are you sure? I assumed that you weren't ready for something of _this_ magnitude yet."

"I've had time to get used to the idea, so it doesn't seem as intimidating as it once did. Plus, I love you. And this is the best way for me to show you just how much. So what's the sense in waiting any longer?"

He rises up and leans back on his elbows. "Well...I admit this _does_ sound rather tempting. I've thought about it many times myself. And I am very glad to hear that the idea doesn't scare you off anymore. But, I think that you may be overlooking a crucial detail. While you and I may be ready, I seriously doubt everyone else will feel the same way. Your father, for one, wouldn't be happy. Nor your mother, I would imagine. They would likely say that we are not ready to take this step."

My nose crinkles up, scrunching my face together. Did he hit his head while he was climbing around in that tree?

"Edward, why would you even _think_ that I would tell anyone about this? Especially my dad!" I emphasize in a harsh whisper. "This is _our_ private decision. And it's no one's business but mine and yours what we do behind closed doors."

The confidence in his eyes fades. He stares and stares, not uttering a sound. Next his forehead slumps down until it wrinkles his brow ridge. As the silent seconds pile up, I begin wondering if the prospect of imminent sex has rendered him dumb.

Gradually, the squinting, strained look on his face clears. He heaves a broken sigh.

"I am coming to suspect that we are referring to two _very_ different things," he murmurs. Green eyes meet mine again, a trace of somberness haunting them. "Bella, I thought that-... I always thought you knew of my intentions concerning..._this_ particular subject - especially considering how I was raised. And I... Well..." He pauses and wags his finger back and forth, from me to himself a couple of times. "I assumed that we would go about doing this in - ah - a more _traditional_ manner," he hints.

I follow his finger and briefly look down at our current positions. I'm still lying on top of his body, practically pinning him to the bed. He probably thinks he's dating an aspiring dominatrix. This flash of insight has me slightly embarrassed.

"Oh. You think it's better if you're on top this time?" I ask, nibbling my lip.

Edward's eyes clamp shut and squeeze themselves together. Without looking, he lifts me off of himself and places me by his side. He moves up into a sitting position and reestablishes eye contact. "No. That's not what I was referring to," he answers. He swallows hard before continuing. "I thought you were fine with us..._waiting_."

I blink at him several times as I allow the information to sink in. But I still don't get it. I thought once I told him that I was ready for sex, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back.

"Why? What's there to wait for, Edward? It's not like we're underage. We're practically adults now. You're eighteen, and I'll be too next month. No one can say anything."

He shakes his head a few times. "That isn't the problem. The reason I believed that we would wait is because we are not yet married."

My entire body goes into high alert. That last thing he said gets stuck on a loop inside of my mind. It's the one word that Mom trained me to be cautious about.

Edward goes on talking while I suffer from acute anxiety. "When you said that you were ready for more, I took that to mean you were ready for more in the traditional sense. At least it's traditional to _my_ way of thinking. I'm sorry."

My finger winds nervously around a lock of hair until it's numb. "So...when you said that we should wait, you meant wait-wait? As in, the honeymoon kind of waiting? Right?"

Edward's head gradually moves up and down. "Yes. I suppose it was foolish of me to make such an assumption regarding your beliefs considering that you are from a more modern era than mine. Sometimes I forget that you may view things differently."

I wet my lips and try not to freak out. It was an honest mistake on his part. If I had been blunt and said something like, "Hey, you ready for sex now?" he wouldn't have been nearly as confused about what I wanted.

"It's OK, Edward. This was my fault too. I should have brought this up to you a long time ago. Instead I kept quiet just because I was nervous." I crack a tiny smile and take his hand. "I forget about where you come from sometimes, too. You've infiltrated this time period so well that it's easy to overlook the fact that you're still getting used to how things work around here."

He squeezes my hand back. "Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should. To go from a time when women couldn't vote to a time when we're wearing the pants too - I'm sure it took some getting used to."

He unleashes his lopsided grin and places his other hand upon my knee. "It did. But I don't mind the change. You are _ravishing_ in pants."

I giggle softly and burrow my face at his neck. His arms weave around me to bring us closer. The awkwardness is gone. I begin planting kisses at his Adam's apple and keep going upwards. Edward's hands slide up and down the contours of my body, igniting a flame within me. That familiar wanting from earlier is back - but stronger now than ever before.

My teeth nip and pull at his earlobe, drawing out some wonderful sounds from between his lips. While I am doing this, I share more of my thoughts. "It's understandable that you would have thought that we would have to wait. Society didn't condone premarital sex back then, did they?"

I bite down on his earlobe and he agrees in a vague grunt.

Quickly licking around the shell of his ear, I continue. "It's strange how that mindset has changed over the years, though. Now some people do it with partners they barely know and think nothing of it. It's none of my business what they do, but I don't think I could have ever do something like that. I think it's best to do it with someone you love and care for." I stop to graze my lips across his jaw. Although he shaves religiously, I can feel the beginnings of stubble coming in. My mouth travels over his skin until it hovers an inch away from his lips. "I'm glad I waited for you," I add.

His eyelids lower, smoldering their gaze. "As am I. I had so much competition when you first moved here that I wasn't sure if I would be the one you chose in the end."

My face leans to the side, casting a skeptical eye. "I stared at you on the sly constantly, like a stalker, and pretended that I forgot how to conjugate verbs in Spanish just so you would spend more time with me after school. You know good and well that you never had any 'competition'."

His eyes gleam like a cat's in the unlit room. "Hmm. That is some very interesting information, Miss Swan. You see... _ I_ behaved in the very same way. The only difference between the two of us is whenever I stared at you, nearly everyone in the vicinity was aware of it except for you. I didn't hide it nearly as well."

He kisses the smile from my face and makes my head spin. I'm not sure how long it takes for me to resurface from the mental haze he has induced, but I do remember that I need to get one more thing out there before we go any further.

I back my mouth away just enough to talk without the need for kissing him to distract me from what is important. "I know this may be a new concept for you. But really, it is for me too. So we'll just take our time to adjust and figure things out together. We can go slow. We don't have to do everything tonight."

Edward's eyes grow huge for a split second. Gone is the sultry look within them. He backs away a half of a foot and drags a hand down his face.

"We can't," he says in a pained whimper.

"Sure we can. We have all night. I can call in sick to work in the morning. I'm sure Mike and Mr. Newton are back home by now and can help out at the sporting goods store."

His face winces like he slammed his toe into something. "Bella. I am not deflowering you while your father sleeps directly down the hall."

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. "Oh my god. _Deflower?_ Really? Who uses that term anymore?"

Green eyes narrow on me. "_I do_. It's better than the crass alternatives I have overheard in the locker room," he grumbles. "But getting back to my point, I don't believe that you quite understand how things are from my perspective. I was taught early on that there are certain things that one can and cannot do. And having s-s-" He abruptly halts in his speech and inhales a breath. "_Making love _without the benefit of marriage was the ultimate of taboos. No respectable man would do such a thing to the woman he loved."

"Yeah. I know that's how it used to be. But times have changed and so have you. And you promised me that you would try new things."

"This isn't the same as you getting me to try sushi, Bella," he deadpans. "This is about something much more important. Yes, I live in a new century. But that does not mean that I should abandon all of my principles from the previous one and give in to every temptation that crosses my path. I have to draw a line somewhere."

My eyes blink several times in succession. A pang of realization from what he is saying threatens to crush my self-esteem. "So... you don't want me yet?"

One of his hands grasps a clump of bronze hair and pulls, his face contorted out of shape. "You have no idea," he groans.

"What?"

His fingers loosen their grip from his hair and fall at his side. A long, drawn-out sigh expells as he gazes with piercing eyes. "Bella, I have taken enough cold showers since I met you to supply the glacial water needs of a polar bear exhibit. So, yes. I want you. Very much. But I have something called self-control to keep that urge in check."

A warm hand cups my cheek while his voice goes velvety soft. "I want to do things the proper way - in the way my mother would have wanted. My family may be dead and buried, but I am certain that they would want me to be on my best behavior - especially when it comes to the woman I plan to wed. Making a mess of things before that day isn't an option for me. So, in the long run, I don't mind the hardship. It will be well worth it one day. And I will wait however long it takes until you are ready for that step."

He leans forward to rest his forehead against mine. "Well, I suppose I better get going. It's late and I'm keeping you up. And, unfortunately, I have an appointment with an ice cold shower before I go to bed." He places a soft kiss on my lips and backs away. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

With wide eyes, my head nods up and down.

He rises from the bed, locates his t-shirt, and pulls it back over his head. Light on his feet, he then walks to the door and pauses. A warm smile is cast in my direction. "Goodnight, love. Sleep well," he breathes out. Then he's sneaking out of the door and gone - all while I remain too stunned to speak.

My head falls to the bed and I stare at the ceiling. I thought I knew everything about dating a boy who had been plucked from 1918 and deposited in this timeframe. But I was wrong. I neglected to consider that his moral compass is much stronger than his hormones. Or mine. I remember the way his hands caressed my skin and firmly gripped my hips. I can still smell the lingering scent of his cologne in the air. My lips ache for him to return and finish what he started when he prowled up here tonight.

I have to face facts. This virtuous Edward Masen is going to kill me.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- The world has gone insane. I don't know about you, but I can't wait for 2021. 2020 is defective.**

**Next Chapter****\- Another fluffy chapter because I need this right now. A trip to someplace warm and sunny since we're stuck inside.**

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


	28. Two Tickets To Paradise

**Chapter 28 - Two Tickets To Paradise**

**April 2, 2006**

**00000000000000000000**

"You know, Edward, I have two functioning hands. You don't have to lug around our stuff all by yourself," I grumble.

Edward keeps strolling along through the Seattle airport while toting a carry-on bag in each hand. "You handled booking the flight and choosing the seating arrangements. Allow me to at least handle this, please."

I huff a sigh but drop the subject. After dating him over a year now, I have learned that arguing about this subject will do him no good. Edward may listen to modern bands like Muse and eat pizza with his hands like the rest of us, but he continues to cling to the same time-honored traditions he was taught during the early twentieth century. I'm pretty confident that he believes that if I have to lift anything over five pounds while in his presence, he will then fail in his job of being a man.

He probably wouldn't be pleased if he knew that I had to push a box of merchandise all by myself last week at the sporting goods store when our pushcart broke. And he would definitely flip out if he knew that Mike had been there too and did nothing but pig out on a can of Pringles instead of helping me. I wasn't thrilled about the situation either, but I gave Mike a pass since he had a bad day. To summarize the situation, Mike and Jessica have a relationship pattern that tends to run a rocky course. They date, appear to be happy for a little while, and then all hell breaks loose. On that particular day, the two of them argued in the school cafeteria for everyone to see and broke up for the fifth time so far this year. Understandably, Mike was feeling a little down in the dumps. Everything is OK now. As of yesterday, they are back together and reportedly proclaiming their love again. There's no telling how long this will last, so the students and faculty at Forks High always try to enjoy the peace while it lasts.

Other than the stress of the Mike and Jessica drama, my last year in high school has been a nice one. Graduation is only two months away. Edward and I spent the fall and winter trying to find a way into college. Although I'm not exactly sure what I want to do for a living, I at least have a general idea where my interests lay. My expectations concerning college were simple. As long as the place had a decent English Literature department, I figured I could make do with wherever I ended up. I aimed my sights low in the beginning, assuming that I would be limited in my choices due to the high expense. Edward scoffed at my attitude and encouraged me to go for something bigger even though I knew that I would never be able to afford it. I applied to several "big name" universities just to placate him. One place caught my eye more than any other. It described an English Lit department where the faculty honors the past while also studying present styles of writing. It sounded right up my alley. Still, the astronomical cost and the fact it's across the country kept me from getting my hopes up.

Edward's idea of the perfect college had two requirements. One, it had to have a music program for him to major in. And two, I would have to be attending college somewhere close by. I tried telling him not to hold himself back on my account. I didn't want to be the reason why he gave up Juilliard and instead got stuck with going to our local community college. In response, he shot me an incredulous look and insisted that he would follow me wherever I decided to go. I was secretly relieved. I had always pictured the two of us enjoying college life together. It was nice to hear that he wanted the same.

A month ago, a large envelope showed up in my mailbox. I tore it open and had to sit down to collect myself. Cornell - my dream college - had accepted me. And to top that off, I had a full scholarship. I couldn't believe it. My smile grew to gigantic proportions until I remembered that Cornell is in New York state. What would Edward do if I chose Cornell? Were there any other colleges close by where he could go? Even if there were some around, would he even want to live so far away from everyone in Forks? Question after question tormented my thoughts.

Later that day when Edward stopped by my house, he had an announcement to make. He had been accepted at Cornell, too. I was ecstatic by the news. Then immediately suspicious. Two kids from tiny Forks, Washington got into the same Ivy League university? There's no way that would happen on its own. I pressed him on the matter, but he swore that he didn't do a thing to initiate this "coincidence" other than mention casually to the Cullens where I wanted to go to college and that he wanted to go there as well.

I took him at his word and turned my eye to those meddling vampires. I suspect one of them got Edward and me in by slipping just the right amount of cash into the university's treasury. I've tried to deduce who is responsible but no one will own up to it. Most of them say something along the lines that I should just accept how things turned out and enjoy the opportunity that was given us. I guess they're right. Both the literature and music programs at Cornell are excellent. I think Edward and I will be very happy there. Well... I'll be happy until I discover that so much money was shucked out to get us into that place that the board decided to officially rename it Cullen University.

Edward and I dodge people and luggage as we navigate to our flight's gate. Sea-Tac is packed today, filled with spring breakers just like us. We're traveling to Jacksonville to stay with Mom and Phil during our week off from school. Mom has been dying to meet Edward for months, but our busy schedules have proven difficult to coordinate. Ever since Phil became a coach for a minor league team, it's harder for them to come up with the spare time to visit his one hundred relatives plus me. Carlisle and Esme came up with a solution when they gifted me an airline gift card at Christmas, loaded with more than enough money for a round trip flight to Jacksonville. Part of me had been upset with their expensive present - especially since it was nonrefundable and all I had given them was a potted plant for Esme and a paperweight for Carlisle's desk. But once they pointed out that the gift was for Mom just as much as it was for me, it was harder to be mad at them. They also hinted that there was enough on the gift card to cover the expense of taking a friend along with me to Florida. That alone brought a smile back to my face. Long distance travel with Edward beats leaving him behind for days on end.

Certain parties were not happy about the trip at first. When I announced our plans for spring break, Charlie began sulking in his recliner and staring at Edward strangely - as if he thought we were making up the visit to Mom's house and that my boyfriend was secretly taking me across state lines just so he could have his wicked way with me. I tried to make him see reason by reminding him that I was eighteen years old and about to go off to college with Edward in only a few months time. That didn't help. His mouth pouted more and his glares intensified. I was reduced to begging Mom to have a talk with Charlie over the phone. She promised that Edward would stay on her living room couch every night instead of sleeping with me. This pacified him and he resumed normal relations with Edward. If only my dad knew that Edward has been sneaking into my room two or three times a week for the past eight months and hasn't done anything too risqué, maybe he would understand that he has nothing to worry over. Then again, maybe that wouldn't be a good idea for him to know about that. Being told that a teenager has become an expert at breaking into your house might hurt Charlie's pride as a law enforcement officer.

Speaking of our late night rendezvous, Edward has stuck by his strict moral code for all this time. If our intimacy level could be measured like a movie rating, I would say that we're hovering somewhere around PG-13. Whenever we get near the R rating, he throws on the brakes and turns off the steam. It's torture when his restraint activates and brings him back to his senses.

While I love what he is willing to do, I can't help but crave more. Every kiss and touch ignites a flame inside of me. So by the time he has to go home for the night, my body is fully engulfed and ready to implode. I think it's safe to say that I have solved the mystery of spontaneous human combustion. It leaves me wondering if I will even be alive by the time Mom says it's safe to get married. I doubt it. My thirtieth birthday sounds like eons away. All that will be left of me by then is ash and a burnt stump.

I hear the announcement saying it's time to board our flight, shaking me free from my thoughts. Edward and I shuffle our way to first class, a place I've never had the luxury of being in before. He's never been on an airplane, period. I arranged that he get the window seat since this is his first time flying. Meanwhile, I lower myself into my aisle seat and try to act natural. I feel a little out of my element, like I don't belong in this section of the airplane. If I take a peek at my surroundings, I'll probably see a few local celebrities and business executives sipping from champagne flutes and looking down their noses at the clearly middle-class girl who somehow wrangled a seat with the bigwigs. Of course, if I were to check their net worths, I would probably find out that the bronze-haired guy next to me has more money hidden away just in his sock drawer than they have in all of their bank accounts combined. I won't be doing any investigations like that, though. Since the Cullens manage Edward's fortune for him, it likely grows exponentially by the day. They took the hundreds his parents left him and somehow turned it into millions. But highlighting the fact that he is mind-bogglingly wealthy does me no good. Ignorance is bliss. I prefer to keep up the illusion that he and I are equals in all things.

When the engines kick on and the plane begins taxiing down the runway, I relax into my seat and allow my mind to drift again. In only a few hours time, I'll be someplace with sandy white beaches and bright, sizzling sunlight. I haven't been to a place like that in ages. Phoenix had the hot sun but no beaches. And Forks has beaches but no hot sun. It's about time I get to experience them simultaneously.

It's few minutes into the flight and the airplane still climbs into the sky. I turn my face slightly to smile at Edward. It's nice having company during a flight instead of being alone. But once I get a good look at him, my smile slides away. All I am met with are a pair of eyelids clamped so hard that it wrinkles his forehead.

"Edward? Are you OK?" I ask softly.

His abnormally pale face moves from side to side in response to the question.

My hand falls on top of his knee. "What's wrong?"

One forest green eye pries apart just enough to focus on me. "I... I'm not feeling well at the moment. But I'm sure I'll be better once we land."

His vague answer has me confused at first. But once I combine it with his clenched eyes and the strained expression, everything clicks into place.

My mouth lowers into a frown. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you suffer from motion sickness. If I had known, I would have brought Dramamine. Umm... lie back and try to stay still. I'll see if they carry ginger ale as soon as the drink cart passes by. That should help you a little bit."

Edward's head shakes in the negative again. "That not-... Motion sickness isn't a problem for me. I-" He abruptly cuts himself off and swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I looked out of the window," he reveals quietly.

"What?"

Edward draws in a deep breath and expels it sharply. "The window. I took a look and...saw that we're up fairly high. Much higher than I imagined we would be..." He stops there and allows his words to trail off.

Edward was around two years old when the Wright brothers took off in their rudimentary airplane. And they went up into the air what? Ten feet that first time? This airplane's current altitude is at least twenty thousand feet with another fifteen thousand or so left to go before it levels off. No wonder he's nervous. It's not like he grew up in a time where flying was a common occurrence. I should have thought of this before.

"Oh," I breathe out guiltily. "It's OK. Just don't look out of the window anymore. Once we're at cruising altitude, I'll trade seats with you if you want."

Edward's eyes fly open wide and bore into mine. "No," he replies, his voice near a growl.

"Why not?"

With his lips pressed into a thin line, he says nothing in return. I keep staring, waiting for him to fill in the blanks of his problem. But since he continues to be stubbornly silent, I am forced to come up with the answer myself.

I pretend that I am an ordinarily brilliant guy from 1918 who has occasional idiotic tendencies when it comes to certain things - like always needing to be the perfect gentleman no matter what. The answer to the question of why he doesn't want to move comes to me remarkably fast.

I feel a giggle percolating in my abdomen. It works its way up until it tickles my throat. "Oh... Are you trying to protect me? From the window?" My hand smothers my mouth as I try to suppress the laughter.

Edward's eyebrows lower into a scowl. "No, I am not protecting you from the window," he mimics sarcastically. "I'm protecting you from being _sucked out of the window seat _if something goes wrong during the flight."

I stop smiling and soften my gaze. "Edward, commercial airliners are safe. The odds of you or me being in a crash are low. Besides, I promise that I can handle being in the window seat. That's where I usually sit whenever I fly. I like looking out and seeing everything for miles around. It's fun."

A bronze brow arches an inch. Evidently it's owner isn't buying my story completely. Since he refuses to change seats, I pull down the window shade and order him not to touch it unless the flight attendant tells him to. Not long afterwards, he loosens his grip on the armrest and resumes being his normal self. Completely ignoring the fact that we're flying through the clouds seems to lessen his anxiety.

It's dusk when we touch down in Jacksonville. I see hints of the orange and pink sunset as it languidly sinks below the horizon. As we retrieve our luggage, the magnitude of today hits me. Edward will soon meet my mom. My well-meaning but often scatterbrained mother has a history of creating awkward situations. If I don't give Edward a heads up, he might think she's a nut.

I slow my walking pace and nibble at my lip. "Hey. There's something I need to tell you, Edward. My mom is - um - well...she's a lot _different_ than Charlie."

The ends of his mouth twitch up. "I should hope so. Otherwise that dress Alice nagged you to bring for your mother will be looking quite odd if the woman looks anything like Charles Swan. Tell me, does she have a mustache, too?" he teases.

I flash him a glare. "I'm serious. Mom isn't like Charlie at all - or probably anyone you've ever met. She's absent-minded and forgets things easily. She doesn't have a verbal filter either. Anything and everything on her mind will come out of her mouth. And she doesn't get embarrassed. _Ever_." My feet stop in their tracks. I gaze deeply into his eyes, all the while hoping he will understand the importance of what I am about to reveal. "And - no matter what, Edward - do not eat _anything_ she has made herself. Mom can't cook at all. Even if she hands you something as simple as a ham sandwich, you can't trust it. Just thank her like you normally would but throw it away as soon as she isn't around."

Edward laughs, the sound pleasant enough to draw the notice of several people around us. "I think I can handle your mother, love. I've spoken with her on the phone before. She seems like a lovely person."

I sigh at his carefree attitude. "Yeah, Mom is great. She's kind and sweet and probably the happiest, friendliest person on Earth. But you don't understand. You only talked to her for a couple of minutes. I gave her strict instructions not to ask you anything weird AND I stayed beside you during the entire conversation. She didn't have the time or opportunity to say anything embarrassing. But now we'll be around her for days on end. There's no way she will behave for that long."

He moves both of our duffel bags into one hand and wraps his free arm around my shoulders, giving a half hug as we resume walking. "Bella, I've looked forward to meeting your mother for months. I wouldn't miss the opportunity for the world. Even if she does what you fear, I promise I can take it. I learned how to survive the eccentricities of my... _unusual_ family without a problem. So it's fair to say that I should be able to acclimate myself to your mother's little quirks just as well. Everything will be fine."

I take him at his word and slowly nod in agreement. My boyfriend lives with a group of vampires that - depending on the person and their present state of mood - taunts, teases, insults, annoys, embarrasses, and dotes on him every single day. Since Edward lives under those conditions, he should be able to handle my mom.

We're nearly past security when I see the place where the family and friends of arriving passengers often congregate. Among the crowd, I spot a familiar man holding a sign with my name printed in block letters. His face is young, good-looking, and wrinkle-free while his hairline is in the beginning stages of balding. Standing next to him is a smiling woman with hair like dark roasted coffee - the style perfectly framing her heart-shaped face. Her arms wave frantically above her head like one of those wacky inflatable air dancers at a car dealership that's used to grab your attention. Evidently, my mom and Phil have noticed our arrival.

"There she is," I announce to Edward, tipping my head in their direction.

He searches until he finds the bouncing lady in the horde of people. His mouth purses out musingly. "She looks very much like you."

I snort at his claim. "Yeah, right. Mom has darker hair and big blue eyes - like an updated Liz Taylor. She's beautiful."

Emerald eyes twinkle playfully. "And you are _breathtakingly_ beautiful. See? Like mother, like daughter."

My eyes roll but my lips smile. Although Edward may be delusional, it doesn't mean that I don't like hearing him tell me stuff like that sometimes.

As soon as we clear the security area, Mom makes a run for it while Phil follows behind her. Her arms spread open and her smile grows wider. I stop walking and prepare myself for the inevitable. Mom is an enthusiastic hugger. When you combine that with her cartoon roadrunner speed, it means a collision is imminent. If I'm not careful, we might both be knocked to the floor. I lock my legs into place and prepare for the hug that is sure to come.

Five seconds later, Mom runs straight to Edward - bypassing me completely.

"Hi! It's nice to finally meet you!" she cries as she squeezes him in a bear hug.

Edward's eyes bulge from their sockets and dart over to me in panic. I'm unsure if his strained expression is from the bone crushing pressure she is inflicting on his ribs, or if it's from the fact that a virtual stranger just threw herself into his arms. Maybe it's a little of both.

She backs up half a foot to look him in the eye but keeps him locked in a friendly embrace. "We would have met during Christmas but Phil sprung a surprise cruise on me that we couldn't cancel," she begins to ramble. "Seven days in the Caribbean. I was on the fence about going at first because I thought only old people go on cruises, but I was wrong! We _loved_ the fun atmosphere. It was like a party every single day. There was dancing, rock climbing, and even spa treatments. It was great! Though I _was_ worried about that all-you-can-eat buffet. Did you know that's where you're the most likely to catch a disease?" Her face crinkles in disgust, the tip of her nose turned up like she's doing an impression of a rabbit. "On our first night on board, I saw a woman dig through the crab legs without using _any_ tongs! She used her bare hands! Can you believe it?"

Mom meets my gaze, her outraged face melting back to a smile. She releases her hold on Edward and takes a step towards me. I inhale a deep breath and hold it right before her arms envelope me. The hug she gives is just as lung squishing as the one she gave him. Good thing I prepared myself first.

"Hi, baby. I'm so glad you made it," she murmurs softly as she squeezes air from my chest.

Once an appropriate amount of affection has been exchanged, I slip out of her embrace so that I may breathe comfortably again. "I am, too," I smile back.

Mom gets distracted by Edward's presence again - not that I can blame her. Her eyes do a complete body scan of him, as if he's a statue at a museum and she's here to get a full admission's worth of staring. Around ten seconds later, she locks eyes with me.

"Those pictures you sent didn't do him justice, Bella. Why didn't you tell me that he's so cute? You need to be more descriptive when we talk on the phone," she notes seriously. Her gaze goes back to studying Edward but she continues speaking to me. "Back when I was your age, we'd call boys like him 'studs'. Do you kids still say that sort of thing?"

I grimace at her word choice. Moms aren't supposed to notice the hotness level of their daughter's boyfriend and say it out loud when he stands only three feet away.

_Please, please, please tell me Edward is talking to Phil and he didn't hear any of that._

I take a peek and groan at what I see. There is a small smirk etched on Edward's face, aimed at me and no one else.

Yeah. He heard it all...

Unaware of the cringe-worthy moment she created, Mom does a 180 and switches to another topic. She gives him a probing look. "Are you a Leo?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

His eyebrows knit together in a single, unbroken line. Taking a quick side glance at me, he finally gives an answer. "Um. No, ma'am. My name is Edward."

It's no surprise that Mom's question would go over Edward's head. She's into a lot of the New Age trends while he's the epitome of Old School traditions. I doubt astrology was mainstream back in the time he comes from originally. I can't wait to see how he will react when she inevitably asks if he needs his chakras balanced.

My mouth twists to conceal a smile. "Mom's asking for your astrological sign," I explain to him. "They supposedly can predict your personality traits based on where the planets were positioned on the date you were born." I refocus my sights on Mom and beg her with my eyes to rein in her quirkiness before Edward decides to flee back to the safety of Washington. "Mom, Edward doesn't keep up with any of that New Age stuff - like astrology, crystal therapy, or astral projection. OK?"

"Oh..." she mouths, nodding her head knowingly. "Well, that's fine. I won't bore him then. But, may I at least ask what your birthday is, Edward? I'm a little curious. You stand tall and proud like a Leo, but there's something about your eyes that tells me that you're not of that sign."

Edward peeks stealthily at me and I nod my head to encourage him to answer. Based upon years of experience, I have come to the conclusion that you should just go along with whatever is occupying her interests as long as it's harmless to herself and others. The only time I ever put my foot down was when she thought about studying acupuncture. A person as forgetful as she is should never be near sharp, pointy objects.

"June 20," he responds.

Her eyes somehow appear bluer as they stretch open. "You're a Gemini then! Well, that's exciting! People born under the sign of the Twins are sweet and creative, you know. And very charming, too! It's a wonderful combination to have."

Edward's mouth moves up and down wordlessly for a second or so. He must have no clue what she's talking about. "Err... Thank you?"

Mom's facial expression softens. "I'm so glad Bella found a boy like you. She's loving and loyal, but she's also very shy. Been that way her entire life. She has all the weaknesses of a Virgin. Do you think you can help her?"

My face reddens to nuclear meltdown levels. "V-virgo!" I stammer out in panic. I take a breath and try not to die while in front of so many witnesses. "She means that I am a _Virgo_, Edward. Virgo the Virgin. It's - uh - _my_ astrological sign," I overly stress.

Mom looks between the two of us, seemingly confused by my miniature freakout. "Isn't that what I said?"

Phil eyes shine with suppressed laughter. "I think that may have been lost in translation, hun."

Mom's short attention span kicks in as soon as she gazes up at her husband. It's the same starry-eyed look she had the day they married. It's nice to see the evidence that their relationship continues to stay strong.

After we leave the airport, we stop off at a bar and grill on the way to their house. Mom asks some of the dinner patrons around the place to give their opinions on what she should order. By the end of our meal, she's made ten new friends and proudly shared with them several "cute" stories from my childhood. Since she is having so much fun, I don't put a stop to it until she tries to tell them about the time when I was brushing my teeth and accidentally poked my eye with the toothbrush. Edward doesn't need to know how I wore a doctor prescribed eye patch for a week and consequently had all of my second grade class believing that I had become a pirate.

It's dark by the time we reach Mom and Phil's house. It isn't huge but it does boast a gorgeous palm tree in the front yard, giving the place a hint of tropical charm. Not that I need to be reminded that I'm in a warmer climate. It's early April and Phil says it reached 84 degrees here today. August must be brutal. As soon as we step inside of the house, Mom complains of the humidity and turns on the air conditioning. The temperature goes from slightly warm to freezer cold in no time. I slip my jacket back on and sigh. It feels like we're back in Forks already.

They direct me to the nice guest room with the comfy double bed while Edward gets stuck with the couch in the living room. It has me feeling bad until I catch him wandering the house aimlessly with his head cocked on its side. I realize what's going on right away. He's mapping out the sounds of the house. He did this at Charlie's place too. Through careful research conducted while my dad was at work, Edward learned every squeak and groan of the structure. He can now move through the darkened house and to my bedroom quieter than a ghost while Charlie snores away obliviously nearby. Normally, he stays only an hour or two before going home for the night. I guess Edward has similar plans during our stay in Jacksonville.

I'm in my pajamas and bundled up underneath the blankets when Mom goes to check on his comfort levels in the living room. I hear him give an assured "fine" as a response and then wish her goodnight. She buys the innocent act, turns off the lights, and heads to her room. Once the house is whisper quiet an hour later, he slips through the door and sneaks into my bed. As I fall asleep, he kisses my forehead and wraps his arms around me - as though he has no plans on leaving anytime soon. I never knew that I would love spring break so much.

Sometime during the night, I am pulled out of a deep sleep when I sense the bed moving. A dim light filters through the window, suggesting dawn is coming soon. I try to sit up but a husky voice coaxes me to lay down and sleep. In my delirium, I do as he says without argument. When I wake up for good at almost nine o'clock, I discover that I am alone again. Edward must have wanted to return to the couch before Mom or Phil woke up.

Holding in a yawn, I drag myself out of bed and dress myself. I wander to the kitchen and find Mom standing there, the unmistakable scent of something cooking hovering in the air. A jolt of fear sweeps over me, as if she holds a butcher knife in her palm instead of a spatula.

"Uhh. Mom. What are you doing?"

She takes a peek over her shoulder and smiles. "Good morning! I'm making breakfast. Go ahead and take a seat. It should be done soon."

I feel my stomach quivering in terror. If it were possible, I have no doubt that it would cut ties with me and escape my body before it's too late.

Edward strolls into the kitchen in a short sleeve button up shirt and damp hair. He apparently just had a shave and shower, a realization which has my imagination running wild and distracts me momentarily from less happy thoughts - like the memories of Mom's famous lasagna surprise. The surprise was that underneath the globs of charred mozzarella, I discovered that she forgot to boil the lasagna noodles first. It was like trying to eat a deck of cheesy playing cards.

Edward takes the chair beside me and looks content with life. Evidently, he is unaware of the danger we are both in.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dwyer," he greets.

Her shoulders shake as she giggles. "Oh, no. Only my kindergarten class uses that name, Edward. You're welcome to call me Renée."

"Yes. Of course. Good morning, _Renée_," he emphasizes.

Mom's smiling mouth gradually lowers into a small frown. "I'm sorry about the sleeping arrangements, Edward. We probably should have ordered an air mattress for you. That couch wasn't too terrible last night, was it?" she presses guiltily.

"On the contrary. I found where I slept to be quite pleasant." He pauses for a moment, turning on a lopsided smile. His voice drops an octave or two as he monitors my face. "Soft and warm - exactly as I prefer it."

My mouth flops open like a broken door. I don't think he's talking about the couch anymore...

Mom releases a relieved sigh and luckily appears not to catch his true meaning. "That's good to hear. I fell asleep on that couch once and had to go to the chiropractor afterwards. But you're young and don't have the back problems that I do. I had an epidural when I went to the hospital to have Bella, and I think the anesthesiologist accidentally injured a nerve in my lower back because when the doctor told me to push-"

My face crumples in a wince. "Mom! No childbirth stories before ten in the morning, please."

"All right, all right. I'll save it for some other time then," she concedes. She turns away from us to deal with what's in the skillet. "Are you two hungry? I made apple cider pancakes," she announces while she flips one over.

My forehead wrinkles downward. Apple cider pancakes sounds too advanced for her. In the past whenever she tried to cook something, Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines were usually involved in the fiasco since their products are marketed as being "easy" to put together. It never was easy for Renée Dwyer. She would either accidentally skip a step in the cooking process or forget there was a cake in the oven until the fire department showed up to investigate the source of black smoke billowing from our house.

"Where did you find the recipe?" I question with mounting concern.

"I didn't find it. It was given to me. I forgot to tell you that I've been taking a cooking class for the past two weeks. This was one of the first things we learned to make. I can't wait for you to try it!"

"A cooking class?" I repeat.

"Uh-huh. I figured it was about time Phil and I stopped relying on fast food and take out Chinese so much. And learning how to cook sounded like fun." Turning the cooking eye to its off position, she carefully piles the pancakes she made onto a platter and sets them in the middle of the table. "OK! Bon appetit, you two. I got some flour on my blouse so I'm gonna go clean up a bit. I'll join you in just a minute. Don't forget the sauce I made for the pancakes!" Then she walks out of the kitchen and disappears from sight.

Edward grabs a fork and selects three pancakes to put on his plate. He's going for that syrup concoction when my hand falls on his wrist and grasps it tightly. "What are you doing?" I demand.

His mouth turns down at the corners. "Am I doing something wrong? I assumed your mother wanted us to go on with breakfast."

My eyes widen. "Are you nuts?" I accuse in a low voice. "Don't you remember what I said at the airport? You can't eat her food!"

He chuckles a low, rumbling laugh. "Love, I believe you may be underestimating your mother's abilities. She _did_ say that she's been taking classes as of late. And these pancakes look perfectly delicious. Perhaps she has a history of cooking disasters, but you are never too old to change things for the better. She obviously has tried her very hardest to please us today. So don't you think we should at least give them a chance before automatically damning her and turning our noses up at what she made?"

My entire face screws up. I hate it when he's right.

"Fine," I huff. "But _you_ try them first."

"Gladly."

He prepares his plate to his liking and pours on a generous amount of her homemade apple crumble sauce topping. He takes a bite, exuding confidence all the while. Yet the more he chews, the quicker his warm smile fades. It doesn't take long before his face is contorted and looking whiter than it did on the airplane.

I swipe up a napkin and stuff it into his hand. "Spit it out!" I order in a whisper yell.

Ignoring his table manners, he does as I command and spits it into the napkin. His overall appearance improves once it's out of his mouth and sitting in the trash can.

"So...what's wrong with it?" I press.

He swallows roughly and points to his throat. "Burning," he wheezes. A coughing fit overtakes him. I pour him out some milk to wash down whatever is torturing his throat.

After he drinks and the danger has passed, he thinks it over. "I...I'm not sure exactly. I expected sweet but it was more...acidic? Like how I would imagine the inside of a car battery would taste."

My hand rubs on his broad shoulder to comfort him. I probably could get away with saying "I told you so", but I will not be doing that today. Edward has been through enough trauma this morning for me to go and add insult to injury.

Mom breezes back into the kitchen, wearing a new shirt but the same old grin. She takes a look down at our plates and a flash of confusion sweeps over her. "Sweetie, you haven't touched your breakfast. Is something wrong?"

Damn it. I was so busy trying to keep Edward from having to go to the emergency room, I forgot to get rid of a few pancakes to produce the illusion that we ate them. Now I am forced to either swallow down the hazardous material to make her happy, or give her a hint of the truth to save us from food poisoning. I gnaw on my lower lip while I quickly go over my options. Ultimately, telling the truth wins out in the end. I don't want to eat that stuff and die a virgin.

I back out from my chair and stand by the table, trying to keep my facial expression neutral. "Mom, what did you put in those pancakes?"

A bit of her cheerful attitude returns. "Come over here and I'll show you."

She directs me to several items still sitting out on the counter. All purpose flour. Baking powder. Sugar. It's everything I would expect to see in a recipe for pancakes. But when I spot one particular item positioned next to the cinnamon, I realize where most of the trouble probably stems.

I breathe out a long sigh, my shoulders slumping. "_Please_ tell me that you didn't put _that_ in your 'apple cider pancakes'."

Her grin dips into the beginnings of a frown. "Actually...I did. Is there something wrong with it? It's not expired, is it?"

I pick up the bottle and hand it to her. "No. But - Mom - you were supposed to put in apple cider. It's similar to apple juice. But what you bought...well... this is apple cider _vinegar_," I reveal, pointing at the label. "You use this for making things like salad dressing. It's kind of sour tasting. And very strong. It isn't _anything_ like apple cider."

Her forehead creases as she studies the bottle. "Oh? Really? I didn't realize there was a difference." She unscrews the lid and takes a whiff. Her head jerks back. "Ooff! That _does_ have a strong smell, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. It does. So - uh - if you don't mind, I think Edward and I are going to eat something else this morning. All right?"

Mom pats my hand several times. "Sure, baby. I understand. You have whatever you want. I'll try making the pancakes again sometime soon. There's a gourmet grocery store nearby and I'll swing by there to pick up that apple cider. OK?"

I produce a tiny smile and nod even though I am extremely frightened. Hopefully, her poor memory will kick in and save us from another pancake breakfast from hell.

Opening up the cabinets, I browse through the shelves in search of something decent to eat. In the meantime, Mom moves to tidy up the kitchen and puts the dirty dishes in the sink. She pauses mid-step while staring at the insides of a large red mixing bowl. "Well, that's weird," she says slowly. "I could have _sworn_ I threw away those eggshells earlier, but I'm seeing a piece of one in the bowl I mixed the pancake batter in. I wonder what happened to the rest?"

Edward's face falls into despair. "I suppose that explains the crunchy texture," he mumbles under his breath.

"Hey. Where do you keep the cereal bowls, Mom?" I say to drown him out. There's no sense in highlighting every single problem with her cooking all in one go. I don't want to hurt her feelings.

She points across the room and I dig out two. I set the bowls on the table and try to make small talk. "I haven't seen Phil yet this morning."

With her back turned, she washes the dishes. "That's because he isn't here. I was getting ready to make breakfast when Phil found out that he had to go to an emergency meeting for his job. They should be done by ten."

I keep my mouth locked tight but my suspicions have been activated. An emergency meeting? For a minor league baseball coach? Highly doubtful if you ask me. I bet if I checked, I'd find Phil hiding out at the nearest fast food joint and scarfing down an Egg McMuffin. He probably saw Mom in the kitchen and decided to bolt. I don't blame him at all. When you live with Renée full-time, you have to learn survival techniques or you won't make it.

I'm pulling out a few boxes of cereal for us to choose from when I hear the phone ring. Mom dries her hands off on a towel and sprints to the living room to answer it. I lug the cereal boxes over to the table and dump them out of my arms. Flopping onto my chair, I grab the Cocoa Puffs and fill up my bowl to almost the top. Next, I add the milk and lift a spoonful of the chocolaty goodness to my mouth. I glance up for a second and find Edward staring hard at me.

"What?" I blurt out, suddenly self-conscious.

His eyes narrow. "Honestly, I am shocked by what I see. You hound your father every day to eat healthier. Yet here you are eating the same garbage that contributes to this nation's many health problems."

I roll my eyes while spooning in a bite and swallowing it down. "I can't make a big, balanced breakfast of fruit, dairy, and protein every single morning. It takes too much time. Besides, this is really good. Haven't you ever tried it before?"

His brow cocks up high. "Esme Cullen would rather set herself on fire than bring something like that into the house. So the short answer is no."

That sounds about right. The homemaker vampire who never gets tired has plenty of time to whip up her surrogate son a fancy breakfast each morning. But he will soon be going off to college and there will be no Esme there to cook for him. So, he's going to have to start learning how to eat like the rest of us now before she's forced to send him care packages of her home-cooked meals for the rest of his life.

I push some Froot Loops in front of him. "At least try them. You'll get used to it."

He scowls at the box and reads the back. Moments later, his eyes meet mine. "First of all, I refuse to consume something that purposely misspells fruit. It's idiotic. And secondly, why is it called Froot Loops if it has no fruit? Out of the eighteen ingredients listed, at least _six_ look to be lab created food colorings. Couldn't they have added something natural instead?"

I shrug indifferently. "I don't know. If you don't like it, eat something else then. Like the Frosted Flakes. I think its packaging has perfect spelling. Would that be more to your liking?" I end with a smirk.

Ignoring my jab, he reaches over to the table's centerpiece. He selects a bright green apple, checking it's outer surface for imperfections. "No thank you. I would much rather take my chances on something that doesn't need for there to be a 'free prize' inside in order to tempt you to eat it," he deadpans.

I shove in another bite of my cereal while he chews his apple. To each his own, I guess.

With breakfast over, I go to place my cereal bowl in the kitchen sink and happen to get a glimpse out of the window. What I see brings on a frown. The sun is blocked by ugly gray clouds. The palm tree in the front yard is rocking in the wind. And, worse of all, rain falls in sheets from above.

What in the hell is this? I came to Jacksonville to escape the clouds and rain for a little while. Instead it looks like I brought them with me from Forks. So much for this place calling itself the Sunshine State. I should sue for false advertising.

Since our plans for the beach are shot, we go to a contemporary art museum. It isn't how I dreamed this day would go, but it isn't a bad experience either. It's nice to be able to hang around this side of my family again. And both of them seem to get along with Edward just fine. Mom oohs and aahs over his gentlemanly OCD door opening habit and impeccable manners. He and Phil bond over baseball during lunch. And when Mom gets sidetracked into making friends with our art museum tour guide, Edward whisks me behind a stone column and shows me that his mouth alone is more talented than all the artists whose works are featured within this place.

That night, he creeps to my bed and spends the night nuzzling my neck. I fall into a blissful, heavy sleep. I never even hear him leave. When I wake up in the early morning, the bed feels cold and empty. Having him there when I fall asleep but not when I wake sucks.

I try to go back to sleep but it's useless. It's stupid that I'm supposed to stay here in this lonely room when Edward is roughly twenty steps away. I bet there's just enough room on that couch for me. My body demands that I go to him.

As I walk down the hallway, I hear murmuring voices coming from the living room. I find Mom curled up on the couch, clutching a cup of hot tea while she chats with Edward. He sits on the other end, still in a t-shirt and sleep pants. Clumps of his hair sticks up in the front. It's either been meticulously styled or that's just the way he rolled out of bed. Either way, he looks great.

As soon as they notice me enter, their heads snap in my direction.

"Oh!" yelps Mom. "Hi, sweetie. You're up early."

"Yeah. I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep." I look at them one at a time - it just now occurring to me how strange it is for my mom to be awake before eight in the morning unless it's a work day. "So, what's up?"

She peeks at Edward for a split second. "Umm... We've just been getting to know each other a little bit." Taking a tiny sip of her tea, she smacks her lips together. "Mmm! This rosehip tea is delicious. Would you like some?"

I shake my head no.

She giggles a strange little laugh, her eyes nervously moving in their sockets. "Edward didn't either. He likes plain black tea. Sugar but no cream. Just like you."

My brows slant as I stare at her. "I know," I drawl out.

Why is she acting so weird? Is this woman high? Did she accidentally order marijuana-infused herbal tea?

A genuine smile resurfaces on her face and she sits up straighter. "He was just telling me something incredible, honey. Did you know that he's played the piano since he was a little boy? He even knows _Flight Of The Bumblebee_ \- my favorite! _And_ he's going to major in music this fall! He wants to learn how to compose! Isn't that exciting?"

I meet Edward's grinning eyes and heave a sigh. I only told Mom about those things during nearly every one of our phone conversations for the past month. Her head gets so disorganized sometimes that I'm surprised she hasn't forgotten where she lives.

"I know, Mom. I told you most of that already. Remember?"

"You did?" Her mouth purses out and her eyes squint. "No wonder it sounded so familiar." Two seconds later, her worry evaporates - her smile chipper and carefree once again. "Anyway, I checked the forecast and it calls for clear weather today. How about we all go down to the beach?"

We part ways to prepare for a day spent in the hot sand and warm surf. I walk as quickly as my clumsy legs allow and reach the guest room. I pull out my duffel bag and search for my swimsuit - if you can call it that. It's more like a full-body cover-up posing as swimwear. It even has pants. It's terrific for hiding your flaws.

Not seeing it right away, I dump out all of the clothes and sort through the contents on my bed. But I don't see my swimsuit anywhere.

Then like a flashback in a movie, I recall Alice volunteering to pack my bag the night before the trip. Since she literally exists on this earth for this type of thing, I gave the go ahead. I unzipped the bag later on to check for any frilly, overly-feminine articles of clothing she might have tried to slip in but I only saw my normal things. I thought everything was OK.

I try to keep my cool as I yank out the wheeled suitcase she insisted I bring. She probably ran out of room in the bag and had to put my swimsuit in here, I reason. And after a short dig through it, I do find a swimsuit. Though, as I should have foreseen, it's just not _my_ swimsuit.

Where mine was modest enough where I could walk inside of a library without raising any eyebrows, this thing is the polar opposite. It's cornflower blue with white trim. Oh, and it's a bikini, too. The look-at-my-boobs kind. A calendar pin-up girl might be proud to wear it but not me. I would look ridiculous. I don't have the figure for such a thing - or the skin for that matter. My complexion is so fair that I'll get a sunburn if I sit under a street lamp for too long. Covering myself in many layers of clothing - plus heaps of sunscreen - is the only way I survived my years in Arizona.

I look up and glare at the empty room, hoping that my psychic best friend is receiving a vision of my angry mouth and hard-set eyes.

"You'd better hide your Louis Vuitton's before I get back home, Alice," I threaten. Destroying her pair of thousand dollar shoes in exchange for her treacherous act sounds like fair recompensation.

I closely examine what clothes I do have with me and try to strategize a plan. Soon, I'm standing in front of the mirror and gloating at my ingenuity. Alice may have switched swimsuits on me, but she didn't anticipate my improvisation skills. Over that teeny bikini is a baggy white t-shirt that almost reaches my knees and shorts to match. It's almost as good as my original swimsuit cover-up. And to keep the sun off my face, I wear a big, floppy hat she would despise.

Ha! What are you going to do now, Alice? You can't dictate what I wear all the way from Forks anymore, can you?

The beach is already packed by the time we get there. Edward and Phil mimic camels as they tote all of our belongings to the location my mom deems to be the "perfect" spot. Phil sets up a huge umbrella and I immediately crawl underneath it's shadow. It's only midmorning and the sun is already scorching its beams down on us like a magnifying glass on a colony of ants. I'm pretty sure if I hadn't slathered myself in SPF 100 before I left the house, I would have burst into flames during our short walk through the sand.

Once the blankets are down and the ice cooler in a safe place, Mom and Phil take turns rubbing each other with sunblock. It's making me a little sick to my stomach since she's looking at him with bedroom eyes.

Edward drops down beside me and gives my senses something else to focus on. He has on light gray board shorts and a t-shirt. It's nice on him, making him look a little like a surfer waiting on just the right conditions before taking a plunge into the ocean. However, an idea sparks inside of me that I can't shake.

We live in Forks, Washington - the coldest, gloomiest, cloudiest, and rainiest town in existence. The only place I have ever seen him shirtless is in the darkness of my bedroom. This is a travesty. I want to witness the splendor of Edward's chest exposed to the sun. It would really cheer me up after what Alice did. Plus, he needs to work on living the modern way sometimes. Most of the guys around here aren't wearing a t-shirt and blah, blah, blah. But my point remains - that shirt must go.

I bump into his shoulder to grab his attention. "Aren't you going to take your shirt off?"

He stares back with a confused face. "I wasn't planning on it. Why?"

"Because ninety-nine percent of the other males around us have theirs off. And you know how the saying goes. When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

He fidgets on the beach blanket, his eyes darting uncomfortably at the scantily-clad bodies sunning themselves all around. "Bella. I'm not accustomed to even _being_ in a place like this. I barely know where to look. And you're saying that I should _join_ them in exposing myself for all to see? To be like that in privacy is one thing. But out in the open with hundreds nearby?" He shakes his head back and forth a few times. "I'm not sure if it's proper."

I move in closer, not allowing him to look away. "Now listen to me, Edward. You know how important it is to stop holding on to every single thing from your past. People don't live that way anymore. You have to try harder to fit into the here and now."

"Bella..."

"Please? It's important."

We remain locked in our gaze for a while. I widen my eyes to emphasize my pleading. He stops blinking completely. Gradually, he comes back to life and closes his eyes from view. A long breath exhales from his nose.

"You are _lethal_ whenever you choose to unleash your feminine wiles," he mutters. Seconds later, he yanks his shirt from over his head and tosses it behind him. "Happy now?" he asks with a touch of exasperation.

My eyes rake up and down his torso and try not to look too excited. "Mmm-hmm. This is good for you." It's also good for me. Very, very good. Turns out that there's a few ab muscles down there that I never noticed in the dark before.

Phil saunters up to our feet with a volleyball tucked under an arm. "Hey, Edward. You wanna play a game? Best two out of three."

Edward glances at me and I enthusiastically bob my head up and down to encourage him. I typically don't like watching sports. But I'm not crazy. The only thing better than seeing Edward sitting underneath an umbrella without a shirt on is seeing Edward _running around the beach_ without a shirt on. This should take care of at least three different fantasies of mine.

The two of them trudge off to the nearby volleyball net and take up their positions. Phil throws the ball into the air and whacks it to the other side. Edward does a jump and spikes it back. I get a little thrill from the action and sigh contentedly. It's exactly as I imagined it would be. He's stretching and sliding around for that ball, unconsciously flexing his muscles and generally looking like the perfectly-cast heartthrob of my dreams while doing so.

A pleased smile stretches across my face. I am a freakin' genius...

"He seems nice," Mom's voice comments, interrupting my fantasy feast for the eyes.

She has taken the spot beside me and stares straight into my face, making me slightly nervous. I clear my throat and try to regain some composure. "He is. Um. _Nice_."

"He seems very responsible, too. You don't see that in a teenager too often."

"Yeah. Well, he... He had to grow up fast," I explain hesitantly, although that is the truth.

"I know, baby. He told me about it this morning. I can't believe something so terrible could happen to that poor boy. It's like something from a science fiction horror movie."

I stare back in shock. I can't believe he would tell Mom his life's secrets. She can't handle knowing the truth. She'll remember the story but will forget that she can't tell anyone. The entire state of Florida will have heard about the time traveling boy before we even leave the beach today.

My heart stutters in my chest. "Really? He told you?"

"Yes. I can't imagine how painful it would be for both of your parents to die of the same disease. And so close together! It's too horrible to even think about." Her mouth presses together as she shakes her head from side to side. "I would have never guessed he had been through such a tragedy. He seems so happy and well-adjusted. Though, while he was giving me the story, I could see in his eyes how much it had hurt him."

A tiny frown tugs at my mouth. He may not have given her the unvarnished truth, but he gave just enough for even Mom to pick up on his old wounds. "Yeah. And I think not being able to let them know that he's OK now bothers him a little, too."

Mom's expression turns contemplative. "Hmm... I'll talk to him about reincarnation then. Their souls my have already been transplanted to their new vessels. I bet that would make him feel better." Her eyes light up further. "Or we could hold a seance. They may be waiting just over the other side of the spiritual plain, waiting for him to communicate first."

I heave a long moan, but it's more of a laugh than anything else. "Please, no. _Don't _do that. He isn't that spiritual of a person, Mom."

Checking on how the volleyball game is progressing, I watch Edward make a dive for the ball and send it flying over the net. He's up on his feet an instant later and absentmindedly brushing off sand from his abdomen. I hear a chorus of loud giggles, and my eyes reluctantly flick away from him. Sitting all around the outskirts of the volleyball area are people watching the match. A few are just little kids staring in absorbed fascination. There's an elderly couple sitting in folding chairs and chatting while they observe Edward and Phil's game. But the most noticeable are the colony of female spectators who have congregated. They appear to have a few things in common. They all have curvy figures like Pam Anderson, skin perfectly sun-kissed and tan, and eyes all pinned on to _my boyfriend_.

My lungs start the beginning stages of hyperventilation. Oh, no. What have I done? Why, oh why did I convince him to take that shirt off? I should have known it would attract more than just my admiration. Now he has a whole legion of hot girls smiling and licking their lips at him like he's a piece of fresh meat to nibble on. What if one of those beach bunnies bats their eyes just the right way and hops off into the sunset with him?

"So where are you planning to live once you're in college?" Mom asks.

I tear my focus away from the game for a few moments. "I'm not sure yet. I guess there's always the dorms but I don't think I would like it there. Maybe if I can find a job quickly enough, I can get an apartment near the campus."

"And what about Edward? Where will he live?"

I suck on my bottom lip and shrug a shoulder. "Don't know that either." Every dream I have had in the last four weeks consists of him living with me. But my father's unavoidable temper tantrum and Edward's Old School rules are probably going to be against it, though.

My gaze drifts to the volleyball game to monitor the beach bunny infestation. They're still giggling and flipping their hair around like they're on a magazine cover shoot. But all I really see is the boy - or maybe I should start saying _man_ now - who is taking a drink break with Phil and smiles back at me. If he has noticed his flock of admirers, he doesn't outwardly show it.

A rush of relief washes over my frazzled nerves. I still have him all to myself. And I didn't need jaw-dropping beauty or breasts like firm watermelons to attract him. Take that beach bunnies. The bookworm won in the end...

"Bella?"

I answer Mom without looking away from the volleyball area. "Hmm?"

"That boy is in love with you."

This gets my attention.

My head whips back around to Mom. Her blue eyes are trained on me like a hawk.

I bring forth a fake, faltering smile. "Is this something you read about this morning in his daily horoscope?" I half joke.

"No. I see it on his face every time he looks at you. And when he mentions your name."

I don't know what to say. We have crossed on to dangerous ground. How I react will determine how long Mom's upcoming speech will be. So - to be safe - I stay silent.

"And you're in love with him, too," she adds a heartbeat later.

The inside of my throat shrivels up to the size of a raisin. I thought I hid my obsession well. I've always downplayed my feelings when she would scavenge for information. But my forgetful, kooky, flighty, _wonderful_ mother evidently has seen right through me.

Even though my hands tremble at what is to come, I sit up a little straighter and feign confidence. "Maybe I am."

She surprises me when her lips lift into smile instead of snarling at me as I expected. Her head angles a few degrees. "You know... When I was almost _your_ age, I started dating your father and we-"

A shudder ripples down my spine. "Ugh. Please don't reminisce about _that._" I groan while fighting the gag reflex.

She titters at my pain. "Oh, sweetie. I won't over-share this time. I promise. This story is free from any intimate details."

My brow arches skeptically but I allow her to go on. If it sounds like she is about to tell me something gross about dating my dad, I'll just bury my head in the sand until it's over.

Her mouth opens to speak but not a word comes out. The smile on her face morphs to a vacant expression. "Um... What was I saying?"

"Something about being my age and dating."

"Oh! That's right! So... I had a lot of boyfriends back when I was a girl. Usually they didn't last long, but I was fine with that. I had fun with them during the short time we were together, and I think that's what counts the most. Then, during the fall of my senior year, your father took me out for the very first time." Mom stops to sigh. "He was more mature than a lot of the boys I went out with. Heck, he was more mature than_ I _was back then. Being with Charlie was a big change for me.

"When we found out I was going to have you two months into the relationship, he didn't run away. He stepped up. And I respect him for that. But we went about doing things without really thinking them through first. When I look back, I see that we didn't really know one another. I didn't realize he was so introverted. And he didn't understand why I always wanted to go out and be around people.

"Marriage shouldn't have come into the picture just because we discovered that I was pregnant. If we had given things a little more time before eloping, I think we would have realized we weren't right for each other. But we worried about the wrong things. We didn't want the town to whisper about the unwed mother. Or for anyone to claim that Charlie was a deadbeat dad. Now I know that we shouldn't have cared so much about what they thought. We should have worked as a team to raise you and that's it.

"So I guess what I'm saying is this: whenever you need to make a decision, don't rush through it. Even if it's something as simple as where you want to live next fall, or as important as what you want to do for a living - take it seriously and think hard about it first. It never hurts to take your time and know what you want before making your final decision. All right?"

My head moves up and down in a nod. What she suggests will be no problem for me. Over-thinking is my specialty. I spend most of my free time obsessing and wondering what I should do.

"Good!" she sings. She leans in closer and giggles like a schoolgirl. "Though, I'm not saying being spontaneous is a bad thing, sweetie. Actually, that's one of the things I love about Phil. I never know what he will do next! Like last week, he found himself alone in his baseball team's locker room and he got this fun idea. So he called me out of the blue and told me to put on my old band majorette outfit from high school and to bring the baton, too. See, we like to spice things up sometimes and-"

I slap my hands over my ears and hum. "La la la. I don't want to hear this. La la la." I can vaguely hear her droning on but I can't make out a word, thank goodness. Mom has yet to understand that I am not one of her gal pals who wants the details of her erotic sex life.

By noon, Phil and Edward collapse under the umbrella and gobble up the sub sandwiches I made. Mom apparently got domestic again and surprises me with a container of homemade potato salad she prepared just for my benefit since she remembered how much I like it. While I don't want to hurt her feelings, I also don't want to have stomach issues today. So, I mime spooning the potato salad into my mouth, make chewing motions with my jaw, and then do an exaggerated gulp to give the illusion that I am eating it. For the first time in my life, I understand exactly why the Cullens dislike pretending to eat so much. It's hard work pulling it off.

When she digs through her beach bag in search of her sunglasses, I take the opportunity to rid myself of some of it by tossing a piece to a hovering seagull. He catches it mid-air and swallows it whole. Within moments, he plummets from the sky, flops around on the sand like he's having convulsions, and hacks it back up. This is kind of worrisome. I've seen a seagull eat a dead jellyfish that stank to high heaven. So I know if this hardy creature can't handle Mom's food creation, I probably wouldn't have survived eating it at all. As an apology for what I put him through, I give him the rest of the bread from my sandwich. He earned it.

For dessert, Mom convinces Phil to go with her to pick up some ice cream cones from a nearby stand. Edward and I pass on it and wave a goodbye as they maneuver through the crowd of beach goers.

Not long after they leave, Edward looks over at me and does a head jerk towards the waves. "The water temperature should be warm today. And I see that the crowds have thinned out a bit since this morning. Let's go swimming," he suggests.

I draw my legs underneath myself, my posture slouching. "I don't know if that's a good idea..."

His brows furrow together. "Why not? What's the point of going to the beach if you're only going to hide underneath an umbrella all day?"

I shoot him a black look. "I'm sitting here because I burn easily. My skin wasn't made for frolicking in the blazing sunlight. I have to protect it. And the threat is even worse out in the water. The reflection is like dealing with two suns instead of one. I don't want to spend the rest of our spring break in the burn unit at the hospital. I thought I would play it safe here."

"Did you put on sunscreen?"

"Yeah."

"Then you should be fine. We'll only be out there for a few minutes. I think your skin can handle that much exposure without peeling away from your bones," he says dryly.

I pull the floppy hat off from my head and roll my eyes. "Fine. But if I end up with a sunburn, Edward, I'm blaming _you_."

"Deal. And I suppose I will be the one responsible for applying the burn ointment then?" he grins.

I pause in my movements and stare. For the first time ever, having a sunburn doesn't sound so bad.

Still slightly discombobulated by his teasing remark, I take the clip from my hair and let the long strands fall down my back. I then awkwardly rise from my sitting position and dust off the grains of sand stuck to my clothing. I take one step off the blanket before a hand clasps my shoulder.

"You're planning to swim in that?"

I look down self-consciously at my big t-shirt and shorts. Edward isn't usually the type of person that cares what I wear. He sees me in sweats all the time and never complained once. To bring up my lack of style is unlike him.

"Yes," I confirm.

"But why would you swim in clothes that were never intended to be in the ocean when you have on a perfectly good swimsuit underneath them?"

My eyes stretch open until they feel like they will burst from my skull. "How did you know about that?"

Does Edward have x-ray vision that sees through your clothing? Should I stop wearing my unicorn panties now?

His mouth twists as he thinks of a reply. "Umm... A little birdie told me?"

The blood in my veins simmers to a boil.

_Alice._

If she wasn't already technically dead, she would be for sure once I got a hold of her. She must have messaged him about my secret bikini. First she sabotages me into wearing this... _thing_ and then she spills the beans to Edward.

My eyes narrow up at the cloudless blue sky. I make the decision to sneak into her house while she's gone out of town. Then I imagine myself cutting up her collection of designer handbags with gardening shears. Although I doubt I will do that for real, this vision should at least terrify her enough to quench my desire for revenge.

Lowering my gaze from the sky and back to Edward's face, my shyness gradually creeps back. Bella Swan wearing a bikini that shows off her unfit thighs and microscopic bust doesn't sound like a good idea - especially when there are plenty of girls around here wearing much less and making it look good. I can't compete with them. I was kind of hoping to get Edward used to my figure in a more gradual way first. Like, by having him see it under cover of darkness so he won't be overwhelmed by my mediocrity all at once.

"I...I think it would be best if I keep the swimsuit under my clothes today. It's new and I don't want the fabric to fade in this bright sunlight. I'll wear it again some other time," I lie.

His head tilts incredulously. Lean arms fold across his chest. "We leave in two days. Are you planning on doing a polar swim in the waters around Forks when we get back home?"

"No..."

"Then when were you planning to wear it? And why are you giving me excuses? A _fading_ swimsuit, Bella?" He blows a scoffing puff of air from his nose. "The day when you care about taking care of your clothing to such an extent will be the day when pigs fly."

He's gotten to know me too well. Edward sees right through my lies now.

I stare at his throat instead of his eyes. "I don't feel comfortable about being stared at, OK? I'm not in shape and prefer to leave my flaws to everyone's imaginations instead of confirming it. And once people see the world's palest human girl walking around in this setting, the staring gets worse." My arms wrap around my torso. "One time at the pool, someone asked in between their fits of laughter if I had been locked away from the sun most of my life. It was beyond embarrassing and I would rather not have it happen again."

I am met with silence. A long, _long_ moment of silence.

"I see," he muses, nodding his head. "So let me get this straight. When you suggested earlier that I 'do as the Romans do' and stop worrying over my past - that should only apply to me? Is that what you think?"

My mouth juts into a small pout. "No," I grumble.

"Then I believe you should follow your own advice. I have seen every body type on this beach plus every shade of skin represented. No one will think less of you just because you don't look exactly like they do. However, you should know that if some imbecile were to say something to insult you, I believe my fist would shut them up quickly enough."

I give a warning stare. Having to bail him out of jail wouldn't make for a fun vacation. "No you won't."

"I won't if you get out of that t-shirt and swim with me. If we're busy out there in the water, I won't be tempted to sock anyone's face in." He winks to let me know that he only kidding about that last part. Well...I _hope_ that's what it means.

I inhale a lungful of air and try to prepare myself mentally. I can do this. If I can't stand in front of him with a bikini on, how can I ever expect to be with him without anything on at all?

Quickly and before I can chicken out, I pull off my baggy t-shirt and step out of my shorts. The sun feels like it's shining a spotlight on me and my swimsuit. At least no one is throwing any tomatoes yet.

I shyly peek up through my lashes. Edward's eyes are taking their time in traveling over me. When they finally do meet my face, they burn brighter than the sun today. "Very nice. If I had known you were hiding _that_ under your clothes all this time, I would have talked you into swimming much sooner."

My cheeks flush light pink. He may still be Old School, but he is also smoother than Don Juan.

Edward's crooked smile slides into place. "You know, the walk down to the water is an awful long way off. So, I was thinking... Why don't we walk down there the fun way?"

"The fun way?" I repeat, screwing up my face. "What's that?"

His grin stretches wider. "I'll show you."

The next thing I know, he picks me up and my world flips upside down. The sand is where the sky should be. Blood rushes to my head. My idiot decided to be cute and throw me over his shoulder.

"Edward!" I yelp on instinct.

He strolls along while holding on to my legs. "Hmm?"

"Put me down!" I hiss.

"Why? I'm merely helping you make it to the ocean safely. There are a lot of people and seashells scattered around here to trip over," he jokes, never slowing his pace.

His long legs cover the distance between our blanket and the shore relatively quick. From my flipped position, I see the bubbling waves envelope his feet. He continues walking until the water reaches his waist.

"Ready to come down now?" he asks - as if the whole carrying me thing was my idea.

"Yes!"

"Oh? So you want me to throw you in?"

I gasp. "No! Don't you dare!"

"But that was going to be the fun part."

"Edward," I growl.

I overhear a chuckle before he slowly lowers my legs into the water. I'm a bit wobbly after the bouncy ride on his shoulder, yet I find a way to remain steady on my feet. At first my body breaks into goosebumps from the abrupt temperature change. But I must admit that although it isn't quite as warm as the humid air, the water does feel perfect.

Soon I whip around and scan the shoreline. After the stunt my idiot pulled, we probably have throngs of people watching our every move. I'm sure a few even taped it so they can try to win America's Funniest Videos. I squint and see far off kids splashing in the waves, people on the sand trying to develop a tan, and friends animatedly chatting together. No one is looking this way. They don't seem to have noticed or cared that Edward carried me caveman style into the waves, or that my butt was prominently displayed on his shoulder.

But I'm still upset. It's not fair that just because he's bigger and stronger, he can pull a trick on me like that. Well, if he wants to play at being sneaky, I can do it too. A plan rapidly brews within my brain.

I try to conceal the annoyance from my face. Casually, I take a step to close the space between us. I gaze at him with big, innocent eyes. My hand slowly slides up his chest and stops near his sternum.

"Edward..." I murmur as seductively as I can.

This stuns him immobile for around three seconds.

"Yes?" he responds, his voice dropping in timbre.

It's hard to suppress my triumphant smirk. I have successfully given him a false sense of security. He has no clue what's to come.

My finger pretends to be interested in only tracing the muscles of his pectoral area. "You know, Edward...you really shouldn't have done that," I say sweetly.

Before he can utter a sound, I push hard on the middle of his chest with all of my might. A good dunking in the ocean should be adequate payback for what he did.

But after giving two decent shoves, he remains upright. It's like trying to push down a tree. He won't budge an inch.

Bronze brows draw together curiously. "Are you trying to push me in?"

My hands flee and hide behind my back. "Uhh... No?"

He nods a couple of times. "Oh. OK. I didn't think you would do that - especially considering how you asked me only a minute ago to not throw you in the water and I did as you requested."

I am relieved that he has appeared to accept my lie...until I spot a giant grin creeping up his face. A second later, both of his arms shoot out like arrows and grab me by the waist. Then, he intentionally falls backwards into the water - taking me along with him.

I come up from the waves with dripping hair and eyes filled with vengeance. As I sling handfuls of water at him, all I hear is his laughter. He doesn't fight back in the one-sided water battle. He just stands there and takes it - which really lessens the sense of fairness out of it for me. And his playful smile isn't helping me either. It has a tendency to weaken my defenses and make me want to smile too. Just like it does now. My irritation washes away with the waves.

I'm only half-heartedly splashing him when he pulls me close again. This time he doesn't plunge us into the foamy seawater. Instead he tilts up my face and tastes my lips. We just had lunch a little while ago, yet it seems he is still hungry. Truthfully, I'm hungry too. I always am. My arms weave around his neck and I give as good as I get.

It gradually occurs to me that all those worries I had earlier no longer seem as important. I don't even care if the swimsuit I got stuck with wearing is more revealing than what I usually have on. Having Edward's hands gliding over all that newly exposed skin makes it worthwhile. And I can promise that in ten years time I won't remember my insecurities today. But I _will_ remember everything else. Like the way he teased my mouth open just now and how there was a hint of sea salt on his tongue. And I could never forget how the sun reflected off his bronze hair when he murmured into my neck that he loved me.

Best. Spring. Break. Ever.

"Yoo-hoo! Hello? Bella!"

Still hanging on to Edward's neck, I stop kissing him and look towards the shoreline. Mom is waving an arm over her head like a crazy person. When she sees us staring in her direction, she cups her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice.

"Honey, I know you're having a good time, but are you two being safe?" she shouts at the top of her lungs. "Being in the water without protection is dangerous!"

All nine thousand beach goers in Jacksonville stop what they are doing to stare at us.

"Bella..." Edward drawls out, his eyes faintly concerned. "Is your mother insinuating that we are..."

I shake my head quickly. "No. Of course not."

A sobering thought hits me all at once. This is Renée Dwyer we're talking about. It might be that she's only worried about dangerous sun exposure. But it might also be that she's trying to give me the sex safety talk while in public. With Mom, anything is possible.

"I think she's worried that we don't have on enough sunscreen," I begin. I bury my face into Edward's shoulder to escape from the numerous eyes still on us. "At least I hope to _god_ that's what she means."

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- Happy belated Mother's Day, everyone!**

**Next Chapter****\- Bella gets a surprise for graduation. And Edward solves a mystery that has been haunting him for a while.**

**Thanks for reading. :-)**


	29. Free To Decide

**A/N- Sorry for the update delay. Here's a long chapter to make it up to you. Forgive me, please?**

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**Chapter 29- Free To Decide**

**June 3, 2006**

**00000000000000000000**

It rained today. Of course, that isn't a new phenomena around here. Forks and dampness practically go hand in hand. The relentless tapping on the roof began this morning and has continued well into the afternoon. I know this is so because I've been sitting at my bedroom window - watching the raindrops dripping from the sky - on and off all day. It's not like I have anything better to do on this particular Saturday. Graduation comes on Monday, so I have no homework to occupy my time. I have no job to go to since I left the sporting goods store last week - all because I wrongly assumed I would be too busy these next few days to keep up with the responsibility. And I can't hang out with any of my friends because they are either out of town for the weekend or too busy preparing for the upcoming graduation ceremony.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Mom and Phil had plans to fly here yesterday for the upcoming graduation ceremony. If things had gone as expected, I would right now be off on an adventure with Mom - likely one which begins with her forgetting where her purse went before we even leave her hotel room. Though instead of us spending quality time together, she's in Jacksonville nursing her husband back to health.

_"Sweetie, I have terrible news_." That was the very first thing out of her mouth when I answered the phone this past Tuesday. I could hear it in her voice that she had been crying.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I asked in a rush.

"_It's Phil. He was demonstrating how to slide across a base during practice when he came down too hard. When someone tried to help him up, he couldn't walk or put any weight on his legs. He's been in the emergency room all afternoon. The doctors say he fractured his thigh bone._" She paused in the story to do a sharp sniff. _"I can't stand seeing him in so much pain."_

Phil in the emergency room was bad news indeed. I pulled out a chair and fell into the seat, trying to remain as calm as possible. Although Mom is happy and carefree 99% of the time, it's that 1% that you have to watch out for. All it takes is for her to be told someone she cares about is hurt and she becomes a blubbering mess. And if you make the mistake of sounding overly concerned and not optimistic enough, her anxiety will quickly spiral into full-fledged hysteria which takes hours for her to settle down from.

"It will be all right, Mom," I consoled, sounding uncannily like a female Mr. Rogers. "I'm sure the doctors are working hard to help Phil, so try not to worry. Remember that he's a strong, healthy guy. He will get better soon."

Another sniff came from her end. "_One of Phil's doctors did say that after his surgery, he should be as good as new in just a few weeks time_," Mom added with a touch of uncertainty.

"See? Everything will be fine."

Mom exhaled heavily. "_You're right, baby. Though I'm still worried about how he's going to take the recovery process. They say that he'll be in the hospital until at least Friday, and then it will be a long bed rest at home. I really don't see how I'll be able to get him to sit still for two whole weeks! Phil loves being active, you know. Sitting around the house isn't his style. I just know the moment my back is turned that man will try to hobble outside to do something he isn't supposed to - like mowing the lawn or washing the car."_

Something she said offhand grabbed my attention right away. _Two weeks_ of bed rest?

Cold reality slapped me in the face.

"Mom? You won't be able to come... will you?"

Approximately four seconds of silence passed.

_"Oh, baby,_" Mom gasped. Soon she was weeping harder than before. "_I've been running around worrying so much since the accident happened that the trip to Forks never crossed my mind. I'm so sorry, but I don't think we'll be able to make it to your graduation."_

I swallowed hard at what I had already guessed. She couldn't leave her injured husband behind to fend for himself just so she can see Principal Greene hand me a diploma.

"I understand, Mom," I agreed. "It's OK. Phil needs you. You have to stay with him."

And she did.

She called this morning to let me know that Phil has been released from the hospital and sent home to recuperate. Additionally, a big pot of chicken noodle soup with his name on it is simmering on their stove top. It was a recipe she found online that claimed it was an immune system booster. She revealed excitedly that there will be enough to freeze for several future meals.

Poor Phil.

First a broken bone, and now home-cooked meals made by Renée Dwyer. I hope he has Poison Control on speed dial. But Phil has a lot of good friends down there. I'm sure someone will take pity and sneak some real food to him every now and then.

Although my morning and afternoon turned out boring today, the remainder of my evening should be interesting. Yesterday - on our very last day of school - Edward confided that he wanted us to go "someplace special" tonight. My eyes narrowed on his outwardly angelic face. For him to use that particular term could only mean one thing - he planned to take us to some snooty restaurant where I would feel out of place and inadequate. I confronted him about it and reminded him that blowing hundreds of bucks on a single meal was wasteful. He smirked at my scowling face and told me that I had it all wrong. While he refused to reveal the details of where we will go tonight, he did promise that our dinner would be a reasonable affair and nothing outrageously expensive. Then he added that he had a few errands to run beforehand and asked if it would be OK if he picks me up at 7:30. I warily agreed to those terms. If he breaks them tonight and I find myself at an expensive restaurant where I would need to take out a loan just to cover the waiter's tip, I hope he knows there will be hell to pay.

The oil slick black rain clouds from this morning gradually morph to gray as the afternoon progresses. When the rain stops, the dark clouds remain. A few minutes after seven, I set down the book I had been reading and rush to get ready for Edward's arrival. My sweatshirt gets tossed on a chair and I throw on a light colored blouse. Then I give my hair a few strokes with my brush, check the mirror to make sure I don't have anything gross stuck between my teeth, and run downstairs as soon as I hear his car pull up outside.

I am pleased to find that Edward isn't wearing a three-piece suit or anything similarly fancy to indicate that he is taking us to some overpriced eatery. I smile and head in his direction, checking him out as I do so. He's looking about as handsome as a man can get in a simple black t-shirt and jeans.

I climb into the passenger seat of the Volvo and buckle up. Around five seconds later, he whips out a piece of silky fabric from his pocket and silently encourages me to take it.

I pinch the black material between two fingers and lift it up for examination. It's small and has a piece of elastic connecting one side to the other. I realize it's one of those masks people use to block out light when they want to sleep.

My forehead furrows downwards, not understanding why Edward gave it to me. Does he think I need a nap? Do I have bags under my eyes?

"What's this for?"

"It's just a sleep mask. Put it on," he directs without really answering my question.

I give him the side-eye, my suspicions mounting. I've seen too many movie plots where it begins with someone being blindfolded and ends with them sleeping with the fishes. Blindfolds - in whatever form they may come in - are not a good thing. And, frankly, neither are surprises in my humble opinion. Combine the two, and you're just asking for trouble.

"I know what it is," I fire back. "But why do you want me to put it on? If you're taking me someplace that requires me to wear a blindfold, I'm going to guess that I'm not going to like it very much."

His eyes roll around in their sockets before he responds. "We're going to a place that you've been plenty of times. It's just..._different_ right now. OK? There's nothing to worry about. Trust me."

I am very much tempted to highlight the fact that being driven around blindfolded all night long doesn't sound like the fun date night he hinted about yesterday. But he interrupts me before I can utter a peep of protest. "It will only be for a little while. The place we're going is relatively close by. I promise." Then he stares straight at me, the deep green of his irises piercing the air between us. In my mind's eye, his black pupils start swirling hypnotically - like pinwheels - coaxing me to do what he asks.

It's really not fair when he looks at me like this. Any resistance on my part becomes futile as soon as he turns on the smolder. Maybe wearing a blindfold isn't such a bad idea for me. If I can't see his face, I'd probably win more arguments.

"Fine," I moan irritably. The elastic band of the sleep mask (aka my blindfold) snaps into the back of my head and I lower the dark material over my eyes. The sooner we get this over with the better.

"Can you see anything?" he checks.

I so badly want to give him another dirty look, but the stupid sleep mask would keep him from seeing it. Therefore it makes no sense for me to even bother.

I let out a long sigh. "No."

A moment later, the engine fires up and he takes the car out of park. I remain quiet and concentrate, attempting to use my heightened senses to compensate for my lack of eyesight. I figure that if I pay attention to the car's movements, I can guess on my own where he is taking us. But I think my senses must be faulty because not long after we turn right at the end of my street, I'm already lost. The car makes turn after turn. A left here. A right there. Then another left twenty seconds later. I don't understand it. I never realized Forks has so many streets.

I give up tracking our movements and instead spend the ride quietly speculating on where we are going. Only a few places are open at this time on a Saturday night in Forks. There's the Thriftway grocery store. A couple of gas stations. The Forks Pharmacy. The Lodge Steakhouse located just off the highway. And, of course, the Forks Diner. But I doubt Edward is taking us there. I haven't exactly kept my hatred for that place a secret.

After what seems like five miles worth of driving, I detect the car slowing down. Soon, we stop completely. The purring of the engine switches off. His door slams shut while the passenger side flings open seconds later. The cool outside breeze caresses my face. I strain my ears in search of clues as to where we are, but all I hear are distant cars and the wind rustling through tree leaves.

Edward's hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me up to stand. I wobble in place and instinctively fist his shirt to keep from tipping over. Not being able to see where I'm going automatically places my clumsy setting to the max.

"Can I take this off now?" I grumble, pointing up to the sleep mask.

"Not yet. We're almost there."

With his hand in mine and an arm at my waist, he gently tows me forward. I try not to frown but I can't help it. This surprise of his is getting out of hand. I must look so dumb wearing this stupid thing - like a pea-brained Zorro who forgot to put eyeholes in her mask. Any second now, I'm sure I'll hear bystanders as they snicker at the sight of me blindly stumbling around in this getup.

But I am ultimately proven wrong. I never hear any laughter. There are no voices to indicate that there is a crowd anywhere around here either. I don't hear much of anything except for our footsteps.

A minute or so of walking ends with the sound of a door creaking open. Edward warns me to step over the threshold as we pass through the entryway. Soon the light tinkling of piano keys along with a soft, feminine voice crooning an old song floats into my ears.

My eyebrows snap together like the elastic band from the sleep mask. Where in the hell are we? Did someone build a jazz club in _Forks_?

Fingers other than my own lift the makeshift blindfold from my face. My eyelids squeeze together. After being in the dark for so long, the glare of lights briefly stings. I blink a few times to clear my hazy vision.

Once I can see properly again, I take in our new surroundings. We are in a large room with very little in the way of furniture. There are only two cloth-covered tables sitting on opposite walls. One table has a stereo system with large speakers - evidently the source of that jazzy melody I hear playing since I don't see any pianos around here. It takes me a moment to recognize it as the stereo from Edward's room. The other table holds dinner plates, a covered silver plater, a lit candelabra, and two cushioned dining chairs.

Although the tables are nice, it's the decorations of the room which leave me speechless. Helium-filled, white and gold balloons float, dance, and collide against each other at the ceiling. Tucked in every corner and hung on every available wall is a truck load of delicate white flowers, putting off a sweet floral scent that reminds me of Edward's meadow. And I come to gradually realize the lighting is not as harsh as I had first assumed. It's soft and warm, the effect created by hundreds of tea lights which have been spaced evenly around the perimeter of the space.

As I marvel at everything, I notice little things that look strangely familiar. The walls are made from concrete blocks that are painted white. And although the overhead lighting is turned off and partially hidden by numerous floating balloons, I can tell that it's in that no-frills style that is often favored at old institutions. Like hospitals, prisons, and-

I suck in a breath and stare at everything in renewed wonder.

I know this place.

I've been here almost every day since my move from Phoenix. However, it has vastly improved in looks since I saw it yesterday.

It's a Saturday night in Forks, and Edward brought me to have dinner at our high school cafeteria.

I spin in place and gape open-mouthed at the changes which took place overnight. Where are the dozens of tables and hundreds of uncomfortable metal chairs that make your butt go numb? Where's the scent of greasy French fries, spilled milk, and Mr. Banner's favorite lunch of sauerkraut burritos? And, most importantly, when did Edward have the time to do this? All I did today was read a book and eat a bagel smothered in cream cheese.

My wide eyes dart over to him and search for answers. "H-how did you...?"

Edward's gaze makes a leisurely sweep of the place, as if it's normal that the Forks High lunchroom looks ready to throw a New Year's Eve style celebration in June. "Alice and Jasper came by this afternoon and did all this for me. They did a wonderful job, don't you think?"

I take another glance around. "Well, yeah... But why?"

He doesn't answer right away. With his fingers tangled with mine, he pulls me from the entryway and escorts me across the room. Once we reach the exact center of the cafeteria, we stop walking.

"Because I felt that this room deserves a proper goodbye," he replies, holding on to both of my hands. His head jerks slightly to its left, eyes traveling in the same direction. "That's the table where a lovely but homesick girl chose to sit at a year and a half ago." He glances to his right, frowning at the table holding the stereo system. "And that's the table which sat a clueless boy that thought his life was over. A boy that had reconciled himself to living a half life instead of a full one..."

He steps in closer, staring with hooded eyes. My breathing picks up as the pad of his finger strokes my cheek. "Do you realize the effect you had on me the moment I first saw you? I had seen thousands of faces in my lifetime, Bella, but never had I experienced anything resembling what happened to me that day. It felt as though you could see right down to my soul."

I stand a little taller, surprised by his confession. Nearly the same thing happened to me on my first day at Forks High. I remember that the boy with the mop of untamed bronze-hair captured my curiosity immediately. Then the stranger happened to turn his head a few degrees and locked eyes with me from across the cafeteria. I have been hooked on him ever since.

"I noticed you that day too," I murmur thoughtfully. "You seemed so sad. I couldn't stop watching you... And then you caught me staring at you."

"I stared at you plenty that day myself." He pauses to wink at me, lightening the heavy mood. "I thought you looked like a beautiful nymph - straight from Greek mythology."

My face scrunches up, the expression one of pure disbelief. "A _nymph_? I reminded you of a half-naked girl that gets chased by satyrs through the forest?"

"Well, yes. I'm the satyr in this scenario, you see," he jokes, straight-faced.

It's almost impossible imagining Edward as a drunken, half-goat man without laughing. I barely manage to hold it in.

Edward leans in dangerously close, eyes trained on me with a predatory gleam. "I'm still chasing you," he purrs.

I click my tongue at his teasing - although I also kind of want to throw my body at him and let him do whatever he pleases with it. This is a common problem for me now.

"You can't chase what you've already caught, Edward," I retort, suppressing a smile.

One bronze eyebrow arches back at me and he plays along. "Have I now? And what do you think I should do with you now that I have you in my clutches?"

I gaze up at him through my eyelashes. "Oh... I'm sure you'll find _something_ to occupy us," I hint.

A crooked smile slides up his face. "I think so, too."

Bending slowly at the waist, his lips hover inches away from my own. My pulses races as I watch him make his move. But then, with no warning, he stops in his tracks. He backs up slightly, allowing his gaze to heat up further.

"Close your eyes," he directs in a low voice.

My eyes slam shut without hesitation. He could have told me to sing the National Anthem off-key and I probably would have done it as long as it ends with his mouth somewhere on me. But this is easy. And rewarding. Everyone knows that kissing with your eyes closed makes the experience a hundred times better.

One of Edward's hands slips out of my grasp. I don't have to ask why. My smile grows as I await what's to come. At any second, those fingers of his will tilt my face up for easier access. Next, they will bury themselves deep in my hair and fondle the strands. Then, he will swoop in to capture my lips in a way that sends sparks to every nerve ending in my body. His methods may be predictable, but it's always perfect.

But as I stand here, the seconds begin piling up. Nothing much is happening. I don't feel any lip action at all. There's no good, old-fashioned groping going on either.

What's taking him so long? And why is he quiet all of the sudden? If I wasn't holding on to one of his hands, I would think he hightailed it out of the cafeteria and left me behind.

With eyes firmly shut, my mouth lowers into a small frown. "Edward?"

I am met with silence for several seconds more.

"You can open them now, Bella," he replies gently.

_Huh? _

_OPEN my eyes? What about my kiss?_

I pry my eyelids apart and look up to where his face should be towering above my head. But he isn't there. My eyes drop to our joined hands. And that's when I discover Edward squatting on the floor in front of me.

I blink and furrow my brow at his strange position, wondering why he chose to get down there when it's probably crawling with germs and remnants of the tuna fish salad the lunch ladies served yesterday. I seriously doubt Jasper and Alice had the time to give this place the biohazard scrubbing it deserves before they set up the elaborate decorations.

On the verge of pointing this out, I stop myself once I take note of the serious expression on Edward's face. I study him further and realize that he isn't really squatting. His left knee is making contact with the tile floor. And, oddly, in the palm of his free hand rests a tiny black box that wasn't there earlier.

A funny feeling crawls up my spine. I carefully reevaluate the situation.

I was brought to a place which is meaningful to the both of us. Edward has dropped down on one knee. And he holds up the black box in the air as if it's an offering to me...

My world spins off its axis.

I thought Edward drove us here because he's sentimental, romantic, and wanted to cheer me up after the rough week I had.

Now I think I understand the true reason.

I gape with bulging eyes at the man kneeling before me. At the same time, the erratic thumping of my heart threatens to burst through my rib cage. There's about a million things I want to say but nothing will come out. Intelligible words have temporarily left my brain until further notice.

Edward's thumb grazes across my knuckles in a comforting pattern. "I brought you here tonight because I want the next phase of our lives to be as wonderful as the beginning," he explains, still on bended knee. "I think I began to fall in love with you the moment that I first set eyes upon you. It may have been your beguiling beauty that first caught my attention, but it was your undeniably enchanting personality and intelligence that holds me to this day.

"You are the reason why I wake up with a smile on my face. You are the reason why I have hopes and dreams again. You are my life, and I want to spend the rest of it making you happy. I'll wait for you for as long as it takes, but I need to ask you regardless of what you may decide."

With his gaze pinned to my face, Edward takes a breath and briefly holds it. The tiny black box cracks open, sounding abnormally loud to my ears. "Isabella Swan," he begins formally. "Will you marry me?"

I look down and see a gold ring with a diamond about as large as my protruding eyeball staring back, as though it's waiting for me to answer his question too. My lips move wordlessly several times. I'm so flustered, I don't even have the strength to complain that he used my full name instead of just Bella.

Out of all the things I thought we would do tonight, _this_ was not one of them. He never so much as hinted at what he had planned. Sure, he's mentioned little things here and there over the past year or so to indicate that he wants our lives permanently intertwined one day, but he never said anything about proposing so soon.

I swallow the hard lump blocking my airway. "Edward... This is - _crazy_... Who gets married at eighteen?" I wheeze, nearly breathless.

One broad shoulder gives a nonchalant shrug. "Lots of people have."

My eyes narrow down at him. "I meant people that live in _this century_, Edward. No one gets married right out of high school." I'm sure back during olden times, a girl marrying at eighteen was no big deal. If you were still single at twenty years old, folks around town probably called you a spinster behind your back. But Edward needs to wake up to the fact that he doesn't live in that age anymore. In 2006, it creates lots of unwelcome talk.

"Timing is but a detail, love. Should it matter that we found each other now instead of later? I don't want to waste precious time together just because a few people may raise their eyebrows at our marrying at a young age. As long as it is what we both want, the rest doesn't matter."

The corners of my lips lower half an inch. He made his argument sound sensible. How does he do that? I think he may have been a career politician in a former life and that's why he debates so well. Though my biggest concern is one that he made no mention of.

My body nervously shifts its weight to my other leg. "But my parents would flip if we... _you know_. They married right after graduation, and look what happened to them. They divorced before I could even walk."

His face pivots to the side, eyes boring into mine. "First of all, we are not your parents. They had only been together for a short while and married on the spur of the moment. We, however, have been a couple for over a year. And my desire to marry you certainly isn't a wild or spontaneous idea that I just thought up a few days ago. I planned this months ago. And, secondly, they will not - as you claim - 'flip out' if we were to do this."

I force myself not to roll my eyes. Clearly, his optimism is clouding his judgement. Has he forgotten who my parents are?

"Yes they will. Charlie will shoot you for even asking me and then he'll have a heart attack," I counter. Just the thought of him hearing about this has my palms sweating.

Edward's chest shakes as he softly laughs, the sound more alluring than the music playing in the room. "That's utter nonsense. The man is stronger and more levelheaded than you give him credit... Besides, he already knows."

The lower half of my jaw almost detaches from its hinge.

"No way," I yelp once my ability to speak returns. I covertly check Edward's body for signs of bullet holes. It wouldn't look good if the police chief had to be carted off to jail, so there was probably a cover-up going on behind the scenes after Charlie shot him. And I have no doubt Carlisle knows how to sew up a wound until it's almost invisible to the human eye.

Edward's smile grows wider. "Oh, yes. I let him know weeks ago that I would be asking you soon."

My eyes enlarge to their maximum. This boyfriend of mine is more old-fashioned than I ever could have imagined.

"You asked Charlie for _permission_ to marry me?" I enunciate carefully. Then I bite my tongue, holding back my snarky remark of if he asked Charlie about the details of my dowry too. This is twenty-first century Forks, Washington. Not fifteenth century England.

His head shakes in the negative. "No. It was more of an..._advanced_ notification. I simply visited him at the police station and explained to him my intentions."

My eyelids flutter a few times, bewildered by this easy-breezy explanation. It wasn't long ago when my father was grumbling about how Edward and I were going off to Florida without his supervision for a few days. So how could he possibly be OK with us taking an even bigger step than that?

I stare down at Edward's kneeling form and probe for more information. "And what did he say?"

"He claimed that he had a feeling it was coming. I'm at your house nearly everyday. And - I should guess - just by the way I look at you, it probably clued him in on what I had in mind. So, really he seemed more philosophic than surprised."

_Charlie had a feeling it was coming?_

How is that possible when I had no clue about it myself?

While I am quietly puzzling over this conundrum, Edward drops another bomb on me. "And before you say anything more, you should be aware that I alerted your mother as well."

My stomach recoils from the shock. It seems like every single word from Edward's mouth tonight only stuns me further.

My head shakes from side to side. "No. You couldn't have. You don't even have her phone number."

His smile is smug, yet somehow he manages to make it look attractive. "You are correct on that front. I didn't call her. I told her - in person - back when we visited her during spring break."

I struggle to make sense of what he said. Then, I let out a startled gasp. "That was...almost two months ago! Why didn't she say anything to me?"

"Well, I asked her to keep it to herself and she agreed."

I stare at him in absolute stupefaction for twenty seconds straight. Slowly, I regather my wits.

"My mother promised to keep this a secret from me? The same woman who always blurted out what she bought for my birthday - because she was 'too excited' to keep it a surprise - agreed to keep her mouth shut?"

Edward nods with a hint of amusement. "It seems so."

Did Edward drive us to an alternate universe where everything is opposite from our former reality? Because none of this makes sense otherwise.

I suck in a lung-full of air, trying hard to not black out from worry. "So, what did she say?"

Edward's mouth twists ruminatively as he forms a reply. "Basically the same thing as Charlie. I will venture to say that she even appeared _thrilled_ that I was asking for her blessing. She thought it was a quaint and gentlemanly custom."

Anxiety has me practically trembling in my sneakers. I don't buy his story one bit. Obviously Edward is sugarcoating what really went on that day. I know my mother. She spent the seventeen years I lived under her roof reminding me of her greatest mistake - her quickie first marriage. She told me she was too young, too irresponsible, and too unprepared back then to have gotten married to Charlie so soon into their relationship. And Edward expects me to believe that she is fine with us doing exactly what she warned me against? I don't think so. He has to be leaving out the bad parts of their encounter.

"But what did she _do_, Edward?" I stress with aching lungs. "How much did she scream? Did she throw anything?"

His lips press together while his eyes shine up at me. "Umm..._no_, if I recall correctly. She seemed calm. Apparently, you have spoken so highly of me for so long that she accepted that something likely would be happening between us. She claimed that she thought it would either be marriage or 'shacking up together'. Which, by the way, were _her_ words, not mine."

My panicked breathing gradually subsides. That last part _does_ sound like something Mom would say. And I guess I have talked very good about Edward a lot to her, too. Then, when we visited her, she saw for herself how hard I've fallen for him.

Edward must be telling me the truth.

But the truth can hurt sometimes. My mother gave dozens of speeches through the years, drilling it into my skull not to make her same mistakes. Now - suddenly - she doesn't seem to mind that her daughter is committing herself to someone right out of high school. And my dad is OK with everything, too. No complaints. No concerns. That can only mean one thing.

"So...they don't care?" I murmur with a small frown.

Edward's amusement disappears, his mouth forming a straight line "They care, Bella. Very much so. But, they would rather let you make your own decisions. It's your life to live. And they will support you in whatever you decide. As will I."

A heavy weight lifts from my shoulders. It registers within me that I am an adult now, and my parents are treating me like one. It feels good.

But even with the worry of disappointing them no longer as great of a concern, the big question that started all of this remains. Edward asked me to marry him.

And I'm not sure what I should say.

I gulp down a wad of saliva and play back his comments from only a few moments ago. Then I repeat it aloud, making sure I understand it correctly. "So, if I were to say that I needed to think it over first, you would be OK with it?"

His reply is instant. "Yes. I told you that I will wait however long you want - be it days or years. But I needed to ask you this now so you will know - without a doubt - what my feelings are towards you."

Wonderful relief washes over me, lessening the stress tenfold. Knowing that he doesn't expect a yes or no response at this very moment allows me to breathe normally again.

But my relief is short lived as I take a good look at this man. Guilt rapidly takes its place. Edward remains crouched down on his knee, groveling at my feet like I'm royalty and he's nothing but dirt. I don't like it. I've been so preoccupied with my own fears and paranoia that I neglected to consider what I have put him though tonight. What must he be thinking after seeing me have freakout after freakout over the mere thought of marrying him? He probably thinks the worst - that I don't feel the same as he does about me.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

"Get up please," I urge, my voice above a whisper.

He rises gracefully from the floor, eyes on me the entire time. As he straightens his tall frame, the tiny satin box remains wide open in his palm. I never really got a good look at it until now. The diamond ring gleams in its black box, casting off a light bright enough that Robinson Crusoe could have used it to send distress signals to passing ships.

I step closer and study the ring. A large, oval-cut diamond is the focal point. Several smaller stones surround it like ladies in waiting, each one as lovely as the next. My index finger traces the cool gold of the band, amazed at the detail that went into the delicate, floral design. It must have taken some craftsman dozens of hours to make something this elaborate.

"It's beautiful," I admit.

As I continue to stare at it, it sinks in that Edward means to give this work of art to _me_ \- the plain girl who prefers McDonald's to a five star restaurant. I even wear sweatshirts on dinner dates sometimes when I'm too lazy to dress up. I'm not worthy of something this beautiful. Or expensive. Mr. Multimillionaire here probably said to hell with it and instructed the sales clerk at the jewelry store to bring him the most costly item they carried. I hate to believe he would waste so much on me.

I refocus on Edward's face, hoping that my instincts are wrong. If I'm lucky, maybe he will admit the diamond is a cubic zirconia. "This didn't cost an arm and a leg, did it? Please tell me that you won this out of a bubblegum machine or something. Or it says 'Made In China' in tiny letters somewhere."

A charming smirk is directed at me. "It was neither an arm or leg, nor did I sell my soul or anything else you could possibly think up. Actually, this didn't cost me anything. This is the ring that my father presented to my mother. I inherited it."

My eyes drop back to the object in his hand. It's in very good condition considering its age. The gold is flawless and unscratched. The precocious stones shine just as brilliantly as if they had been cut and polished yesterday. The ring is timelessly classy.

"I never would have suspected that. It looks like new," I breathe out.

"This was made over a hundred years ago."

A warm tingling grips my heart as we admire it together. Mrs. Elizabeth Masen - the woman that brought Edward into this world and was strong enough to push the vampire Dr. Carlisle Cullen to find her son - _owned this exact ring_. It feels as though I'm viewing a sacred relic, like a clipping of Saint Peter's hair. Although the bond they shared was once strong, Edward doesn't speak of her very often. Every now and then, he will smile and recall something she once said or did. Whenever I hear a new detail about her, it only seems to add to her mystique. Intelligent. Beautiful. Caring. Sophisticated. Witty. Mrs. Masen sounds practically too good to be true. But this ring proves she once existed. She was a real person - not just a lovely face from the old sepia-hued photographs her son keeps in a scrapbook. She wore it the day she became Edward Senior's wife. She wore it when she hosted fancy dress balls and attended high society tea parties. And, she wore it the day she took her last breath on this earth. She may be gone now, but her memory and the love she had for her family continues to burn brighter than the diamonds of her ring. And the idea that Edward would want to give me something so personal of his mother's has officially transformed my insides to mush.

"I suppose this would be considered rather old-fashioned nowadays." I glance up from the ring to find Edward's eyes shifting from side to side, suddenly unable to look at me head on. "If ever, or whenever, you decide that you want to marry me, you can choose a more up-to-date ring," he offers.

_What? A NEW ring? _

My forehead scrunches into a mass of wrinkles, repulsed by the very idea.

Edward rambles on obliviously. "Alice suggested a few places in Seattle that have more modern jewelry that you may find more to your liking. Though, knowing her, those places would-"

My finger lands on his lips to silence him. He stares back with a touch of confusion, the way I probably looked a few minutes ago when he first dropped down on his knee. But I'm not confused anymore. Everything begins clicking into place, like cogs turning a clock's delicate mechanisms - pushing its hands forward instead of backwards. I don't want Edward to search for a new ring because the one he holds is perfect. This ring actually means something to us both. I can even picture it on my finger - not as something to weigh me down, but as something to treasure and take pride in. And after I finish imagining it on my left ring finger, I surprise even myself. I discover that I _want_ it there.

The tip of my finger continues to press against his firm lips. I immerse myself in the look in his eyes, unable to tear my attention away. To be honest, this happens a lot. But it's more than just his handsome face which fascinates me. It's _everything_ about him. Because when I look at Edward, I see things I never before thought possible - like light-hearted jokes in between kisses, and deep, thought provoking discussions over a simple dinner of chicken nuggets and fries. I see companionship when I look at him. I see love.

I think I see forever.

And that doesn't sound nearly as scary as it once did.

I blink to bring myself back into the present. "No. That won't be necessary. I like this one," I insist.

I peek down at his mother's ring and marvel at it once more. It really is eye-catching. Old in style but better to me than anything else you can find today. It kind of reminds me of someone I know.

Removing my finger from his mouth, the beginnings of a smile lifts my cheeks. "I'm not much for modern things. I find that old-fashioned things are _much_ more attractive," I remark playfully. I didn't know how to flirt very well before my move to Forks. Being with Edward has been a wonderful learning experience.

His bronze eyebrow cocks up at an angle. "Do you now? Is this..._preference_ of yours limited to inanimate objects or does it cover a broader range?"

"Yes. It includes ridiculously attractive males that time travel. They are _impossible_ to resist."

His lip juts out into a small pout. "I wasn't aware that there was such strong competition among that group."

I move in closer, my arms entwining themselves around his neck. "Oh, but there really isn't. You see, I'm seriously considering the offer one of those time travelers gave me. He asked me to marry him, but I haven't given him an answer yet."

"Is that so?"

"That's right. I think that I should give him an answer. Don't you?"

His head nods slowly while his eyes closely monitor my face. "I suppose that would be the proper way to go about doing things. So... what will your answer be?"

My face takes on a broader smile. "I'm thinking that since I love him and plan on being with him forever anyway, that I should go ahead and make it official."

He peers deeper into my eyes, his expression no longer joking. "Are you sure, Bella? I don't want you to agree just because I want this for us. I would rather you be honest and tell me that you need more time than for you to be unhappy in the long run."

I glance down at the floor, taking a moment to decide on how I should explain myself. My eyes dart back up to meet his worried face. "You want honesty? OK. I'm scared out of mind about what Jessica and Angela will say when I tell them I'm engaged. I'm dreading the shoes that I'll be expected to wear. I'm terrified that you'll wake up one day and ask yourself why you picked me out of all the people in the world to be with. But, I can also tell you that what I feel for you will never change. I know what I want, and it's you. So, if marrying you is all that I need to do to make that happen, then I guess I'm saying yes to you."

He stares unblinking, face almost frozen. "You'll marry me?"

I make sure to keep our gazes locked before I respond. "Yes."

A gust of air rushes from his mouth. Seconds later, a grin - gloriously crooked - has his eyes dancing. It's infectious. My smile matches his.

His arms scoop me into a hug. "Thank you," he breathes into my ear.

I can't hold in my giggle. This man... What am I going to do with him? He's acting as if I'm doing him a favor.

"You're welcome."

He holds me tight until I fist the collar of his t-shirt, yanking it downwards. He takes the hint and lowers his face to my level. Our lips crash together, sealing our future with a kiss. But I can't seem to get close enough. I want more and more. I think he does too. An arm locks at my waist like cuffs, giving no indication of releasing me anytime soon. It's an awesome feeling to be this man's object of desire.

Forks High was built over fifty years ago on a wooded lot off the main highway. However, Edward and I do something that no one in the history of the school's baseball team could ever accomplish. Today marks the first time that two bases were crossed in the cafeteria.

**00000000000000000000**

I'm snuggled deep within my blankets when I hear a pounding at my bedroom door. One eye cracks open. Glancing at my alarm clock, I see it's a few minutes past seven. Charlie probably wants to let me know he's going fishing. It is Sunday, after all.

I stifle a yawn. "Yeah. Come in."

I expect to see his head poking inside any second, nervously checking for signs of anything too girlie going on in here that may scar his bachelor eyeballs for life. A few months back, he accidentally walked in on me putting away laundry. I thought I was going to have to perform CPR on him when he caught sight of my sports bra. Now when he needs to come to my room, he practically has his eyes glued shut until he knows for sure the coast is clear.

But it isn't Charlie who waltzes into the room this morning. It's Alice. She's dressed perfectly as always with a beaming smile to top off her look. There's a briefcase under her armpit and she's carrying two stacked cardboard boxes, leading me to believe that the girl is up to no good.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Time to wake up!" she sings like a blue jay. She closes the door and carefully sets her things down at the end of my bed. Skipping to the window, she shoves open the curtains. Daylight briefly enters my room and strikes Alice's ghost-white skin, making her glitter like a '70s era disco ball before the clouds sweep back in to cover the sun.

I stare at her through tired, sleep-deprived eyes. The moment I arrived home last night from our school cafeteria dinner engagement, Charlie called me into the living room. Sitting in his recliner, his eyes soon found the new object shining on my left ring finger. He stared and stared. Eventually he heaved a sigh, cracked open and quickly guzzled down one beer, and then mumbled with a pout that he knew this was going to happen. There was no anger. There were no threats to murder anyone who possesses a dreamy square jaw and fantastic bronze hair. There was only resigned acceptance. It was reassuring to see him take it so well. I decided to keep the ball rolling by calling Mom and letting her know too. She embraced the news, surprising me with her enthusiasm. Edward must have charmed her real good back during spring break. Or he hypnotized her to go along with the idea. He is talented in that way. And as for the lone worry Mom had, he quickly squashed it back then by assuring her that he could support us financially (even though what he claimed isn't one hundred percent accurate). Mom casually mentioned during the phone conversation that it's a good thing Edward's trust fund became available once he reached eighteen. I just hummed in agreement. Then she admitted how difficult it was for her to keep Edward's future proposal a secret from me for so long. I think it helped that she confided to Phil about it and that's why she was able to hold off telling me. Plus she told all of her close friends. And her neighbors. Her hair stylist. The mail carrier. And the pimply bag boy down at her favorite grocery store. Apparently, he wishes us the best of luck.

An hour after I hung up with Mom, Charlie said goodnight and went to bed. Edward and I were then able to engage in a late-night, secret bedroom rendezvous. I didn't mind it at the time since I figured I could sleep in today. But I failed to consider that Alice might pop over this morning.

I shimmy into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard so I won't be tempted to fall back asleep. "Why are you here so early?"

She flies like a bullet to the side of my bed. "We have to get ready for the wedding, silly! There's a whole lot to do in very little time." Her fingers begin ticking off along with her verbal checklist. "We have outfits to find. Caterers and florists to choose from. Musicians to book. And around a thousand other things to decide on... Oh! Congratulations on the engagement, by the way."

She closes her mouth for approximately two seconds, pulls out a magazine from a cardboard box filled to the brim with them, and thrusts the front cover underneath my nose. "See this table centerpiece? It combines dahlias with pillar candles. What do you think? Love it or hate it? Tell me the truth."

My brain has a meltdown. It's too early for this. I can barely think. "Wha-? Alice... I...don't know. I just got engaged last night. Edward and I haven't gotten around to deciding anything yet."

"I know. But you need to start thinking about things _now_ while there's still time to make a plan. If you wait around too long, you may find yourself in Las Vegas at the Chapel Of Love." Her petite frame shudders violently. "There's no dress code there. You can get hitched wearing flip-flops, a t-shirt, and shabby blue jean cutoffs."

My mouth puckers musingly. Flip-flops and a t-shirt? That isn't such a bad idea. Sounds comfortable...

Alice's eyes glaze over. Nanoseconds later, she inhales sharply. "No! You can't do _that_!"

"Why not?"

Golden eyes dart around in a panic. "Because... because... everyone in Forks is looking forward to the wedding!"

I cock my head and stare hard. "How is that possible? No one here except me, Edward, Charlie, and a handful of vampires even know about the engagement yet."

Alice twiddles her fingers and glances down at the carpet. "Well..." she drags out. "Once they find out about it, _then_ they will look forward to it. Just imagine how sad all your friends from school will be if you and Edward get married out of state and they can't be there."

A fraction of my annoyance dissolves. Jessica would sulk for a week if I eloped with Edward without her knowledge. And I can imagine Angela's face if we did that. There would be a hint of disappointment, although she would likely try hard to conceal it. "That's true," I concede.

"And how do you think Billy and Jacob will feel if the girl they consider practically family doesn't invite them to watch her walk down the aisle?"

My mouth opens to agree. "I guess you're righ-"

"And don't you think your parents would just _love_ seeing you get married in an elegant ceremony? They married in Las Vegas on the cheap, for cryin' out loud! I think they would enjoy seeing their only daughter have the wedding they couldn't afford. And Charlie said before he left the house this morning that he wants to walk you down the aisle. Isn't that sweet? There's not much of an aisle to walk down in Vegas."

Wow.

Charlie said _that_? He's more sentimental than I thought. Last night after he saw the ring on my finger, all my dad requested was that I don't make him a grandfather yet. That sounds like a good plan to me. Every single houseplant I have ever owned died within a month of entering my care - and all they supposedly needed is a little sun and water every so often. I think human babies are a lot more demanding upkeep wise. So I think I'll pass on having any - at least until I find proof that I have a maternal instinct hiding somewhere inside of me.

Alice shrugs a shoulder and smiles at my stunned expression. "I came by here extra early so I could measure Charlie for his suit. He asked for it be a little loose around his midsection. I think he wants to have room for his belly to expand during the reception. Oh, yeah! And he wants barbeque pork ribs that night, too. It sounds messy but we want to keep him happy, don't we?"

"Yeah, you're right. But-"

"Great! So you agree!" In a flash, she flings open her briefcase and tosses a pile of brochures on my lap. "I took the liberty of finding every facility in a two hundred mile radius that can host a wedding ceremony plus the reception afterwards. As you can see, there's a few dozen churches, some quaint farmsteads, a few decent looking community centers, an abandoned sawmill that was renovated and transformed into a trendy bed and breakfast, and so on and so forth to choose from. Take a look-see and pick your pleasure. But I think the bottom quarter of the pile are places too risky to book. The top few brochures are venues that promised they can host your wedding by the end of the month."

Blood drains away from my face. "T-t-the end of _this_ month?"

She exhales a contented sigh. "Yep. June was made for weddings. Even Rose and Emmett think so. It's their favorite time of year to renew their vows. Thirty-three times it's been so far. And I bet they'll want to do it again after watching you tie the knot. Weddings get them all hot and bothered."

"But I...I hadn't anticipated this happening so soon," I stammer.

"Oh? When were you planning on doing it then?"

I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. "I haven't thought that far ahead yet."

Alice plops down on the edge of my bed, her face suddenly serious. "OK. So let's start thinking about it then. Do you want this to happen before you two go off to college, or do you want to wait until a later date?"

I suck on my bottom lip while I ponder the question. On the one hand - if Edward and I marry before we're at Cornell - we can move into the same place and live as a couple. That's great. And I wouldn't be forced to share a dorm room with a stranger. That sounds good, too. Additionally, if we're married, no one would be able to complain about me sleeping in the same bed as Edward. I think that's the best perk of all.

But on the other hand, if we put things off for a little longer, we would have more time to become used to the concept of marriage. And maybe I'd become less nervous about walking down the aisle while being stared at by a roomful of people. That's definitely a plus.

Then again... The longer we put things off, the longer Edward's mouth and hands will tease me to death while my lady parts slowly shrivel from disuse...

"Before," I blurt out.

I wish all decisions were this easy to figure out.

Alice makes a high-pitched squeal that would damage a bat's sensitive hearing. "Yes! I was hoping you'd say that!"

"But not June, Alice. That's too soon," I demand.

"Fine... Then how about the end of July? That will give us plenty of time to make all of the wedding arrangements. Plus, we need to schedule you in for a doctor's appointment. You need to choose your birth control before the honeymoon starts. Edward has a month long trip planned." She smirks mischievously at my widening eyes. I hope it's just a coincidence that she's thinking along the same lines as I was only a few moments ago.

I clear my throat nervously. "Yeah. But - um - no Doctor Cullen. OK?"

She titters into her pale hand. "Absolutely. Talking about your sexual history - or lack thereof - with the man Edward looks up to as a father figure _does_ sound awkward." She taps on the stack of brochures on my legs. "So now that we're decided on that, it's time to start picking out the venue."

I feel a headache coming on as I glance at the enormous pile. I would need to examine each one, comparing their strengths and weaknesses. High school graduation is tomorrow. I thought I was done with studying for a while.

My weary eyes meet bright, energetic ones. "Alice, I don't think it's right to make these types of decisions without Edward being present. He might have some preferences about this that I'm not aware of." Although I am only seeking a way out of working so hard this morning, what I said is absolutely correct. I want him to be happy too. Edward was too busy last night nibbling on my neck to tell me if he wants a small, private ceremony or a big one.

Alice's hand waves my objection away. "Don't worry about Edward being left out of the planning. He doesn't mind what we do as long as you and he are married in the end. In fact, he already gave us the go ahead to start hammering out the details."

My eyebrows rocket up to my hairline. This is unexpected. "What did he say?"

"I'll give you his exact words." She deepens her voice to imitate Edward's cadence. "Anytime, anyplace, and in whatever color scheme Bella wants is fine with me, Alice. Now stop with your nagging and get out of my room. It's 4:30 in the morning."

My shoulders slump at the news. Now that I am out of excuses, I can't put this wedding planning thing off any longer. I lift up one brochure and skim over it. It brags for an entire paragraph about how a Kennedy clan member once slept there. Too pretentious. I pick up another brochure. Everything in the building is in shades of scarlet red and ink black - looking about as elegant as a crypt. Too goth looking...and terrifying. I snatch another brochure to check out. It shows pictures of an outdoor, mountaintop ceremony. Nope and nope. It would inevitably rain us out. Then I would slide on a wet pebble and tumble to my death far, far below. So, too dangerous.

After several minutes, I shove off the brochures and groan. Alice pauses digging through her extensive wedding magazine collection and stares my way. "What's wrong? Too hard to pick which one you like the most?"

"No, I don't like any of them so far. And some of them use the weirdest terms to describe their amenities. What exactly does it mean when they say the reception hall is 'filled with a cozy ambiance'?"

Alice snorts. "That's just a fancy BS term. It means that you can fit maybe twenty people in there before the room bursts apart at the seams."

My face falls into my hands. Planning anything more elaborate than a three course dinner is so far above my ability that it isn't even funny. I'm about to say "screw it" and tell Alice that Vegas is beginning to sound good again.

A cold stone arm comforts me, her hand patting my back. "It's all right. We'll figure something out." After a few silent seconds, she adds, "May I make a suggestion?"

I peek between my fingers and nod my head.

"I didn't want to say anything yet in case you fell in love with one of the choices, but I guess that won't be a problem. You see, I thought of the perfect locale. It's comfortable. It has plenty of room, both indoors and out. It's only a short drive away. And it wouldn't cost us a dime."

Even though I won't be paying out of pocket for any of this myself, hearing that something is free automatically perks my interest. "Where?"

"Our house! We can have the ceremony inside and the reception outside. But if it does rain, there's enough space inside to host the reception too! Esme already said that it would be fine with her. She even has a few ideas regarding the decorations that you may like."

I blink back in awe. That actually sounds perfect.

"OK."

Her smile cranks up full throttle. "Are you positive?"

"Sure. It seems fitting that the house of the groom - and my maid of honor - would be the best place to hold this thing."

The announcement that she will be the lone member of my wedding entourage only serves to energize her more. Her mouth starts moving at a zillion words a minute, all while pointing at pictures of bridesmaids gowns and asking me which one I like best.

"I don't know," I mumble. My late night Frenching with Edward has caught up with me. I can barely keep my eyes open. "Which one _do you_ think is best?"

With lightning fast speed, her finger lands on a photo spread towards the back of a magazine. "This one. It's silver and beautiful but won't distract from your dress."

My entire body goes rigid. "_My_ dress?"

"Uh-huh. I made it last year just for this occasion. It's my best creation yet. You won't find a bridal gown like this anywhere. You can come over and see it today if you want. But just so you know, I already had a vision of you telling me that you absolutely love it." Almost as soon as she finishes saying this, her look of confidence fades. Her lips pucker out like a child worried of being reprimanded. "If that's all right with you, of course. We can always find something else if you want."

My eyes squint suspiciously. "Will I be able to walk in it without tripping on the train?" If it's anything like Princess Diana's wedding gown, I will be in serious trouble.

"There's no train. The dress ends at your ankles. I don't foresee any problems there. "

My eyes narrow further. "Does it show off a lot of cleavage?"

"Nope. None at all. It's very demure."

I relax and release a breath. "Then it should be fine," I agree. At least I hope the dress is fine. I'll check it out soon myself just to make sure.

Fast forward a few minutes, and she's flipping through a magazine with smartly dressed men gracing its pages. She's asking if I prefer black or white tuxedos. She's asking if I want the guys in single or double breasted jackets. She's asking if I am in favor of cummerbunds. I have no stance on this issue since I have no idea what a cummerbund is.

Once she's describing all of the neckwear choices for guys nowadays, I make an snap decision.

"Alice," I interrupt, catching her eye. "This isn't going to work." Her happy smile vanishes in an instant. I keep on going. "I know I should care about all this stuff - like what type of flowers should be in the bridal bouquet and what appetizers to serve during the reception - but I just don't have it in me. Obviously, I wasn't made for event planning. So if you don't mind, do you think you can handle making these types of decisions for me? As long as absolutely everything isn't in shades of pink, I'll be OK with it."

Alice's eyes explode with excitement. "Really?" she squeaks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Umm. And if you ever get to a point where you're not sure about something, just choose what _you think_ I would like."

Alice doesn't need to be told twice. She immediately whips out her cellphone, dials in a number, and chats to someone in what I believe is Italian. Based on a few overheard words, I'm guessing this has something to do with shoes. Old Bella would worry Alice is ordering something crazy for me, like stilettos or platform shoes. New Bella hopes for the best, pulls the blankets up to her shoulders, and falls back asleep.

**00000000000000000000**

**June 21, 2006**

The passing of time is a funny thing. You can't stop it. Its force is stronger than the wind and more unrelenting than the pounding waves. Something that once seemed impossible becomes commonplace. Something that once sounded frightening can one day be met with anticipation. If someone had told me before I moved to Forks that I would soon be marrying a man who didn't know that microwaves even existed until he saw it inside of a house run by vampires, I would have gotten a good belly laugh at their expense. But times have changed. I can't live without that man, and those vampires now hold a special place in my heart.

Graduation is behind us now. It went about as well as can be expected. Jasper filmed the ceremony so I could send the footage to Mom and Phil. Alice received her tenth high school diploma and added it to her collection. Edward and I each have one now, too. During the ceremony, Emmett whistled and howled as I crossed the stage. Half of the audience laughed when my cheeks heated up to an embarrassing shade, which I think had been his goal all along. He gets his kicks sometimes out of seeing me blush and tripping over random objects. Rosalie stomped on his foot in retaliation. She and I don't talk a whole lot, but I think this was her way of showing she cares.

That night a lot of the graduates and their families headed over to The Lodge for dinner. Edward and I decided that since our friends were around, it would be a good idea to go ahead and inform them of the impending marriage. It would have been awkward if they received the invitations in the mail before I got around to saying anything.

We were huddled in a group making small talk. Angela was filling us in on the details of her soon to be home. "My mom offered to buy all new bedding for me, but I told her that it wasn't necessary. I love my comforter. I wouldn't mind bringing it to UDub."

Jessica closed her eyes and shook her head. "Angela, Angela, Angela. Are you crazy? She's trying to spoil you a little before you leave! When your parental unit wants to splurge, you're supposed to let them do it! Just think of what you may have missed out on. A mini fridge. Ultra, high-def sound system. A lava lamp..."

Mike snorted loudly. "A lava lamp? Why would she need one of those in a dorm room?"

Jessica's eyes glared back. "I don't know, Mike. 'Cause maybe they're fun? Unlike _some_ people who shall remain nameless." The two of them had broken up five days ago. And it wasn't amicably.

Ben looked between the two adversaries. "Uhh... If Angela ever has the need for one, she can always borrow mine. I'll be right across the campus from her."

"Oh, yeah. That's right. You're going to UDub, too," Jessica murmured, her head tilted ruminatively. Her attention swept away from Ben and landed on me. "What about you and Edward? Did either of you make arrangements for a dorm yet?"

My lips felt bone dry. This was it. I had to tell my friends now.

"No. Um... No dorm. We're - uh - getting an apartment."

"Or a house," Edward quickly added.

I sighed. Edward is pro-house. He insists that not only can we afford it, but it would also make us happier to have our own place in the long run. Esme took charge of the search for a suitable house or apartment since she actually knows what she's doing when it comes to real estate.

"Or a house," I repeated in monotone. Having so much money at my disposal will take some getting used to.

Jessica stood to attention, clearly intrigued by this juicy morsel. "So...like you guys are gonna live together?"

"Um-hmm," I answered, chewing my lip.

"And your parents are OK with it?"

"Um-hmm."

She laughed once. "Wow! If I told my dad that I was moving in with my boyfriend, he'd be _so_ pissed. How did you get away with it? Did you tell them that you and Edward are gonna have separate bedrooms or something?"

My arms wrapped around my upper chest. This was harder to announce than I had anticipated. If she was excited by two people living together, what would she say when she found out those same two people are planning to pledge everlasting devotion come next month?

"Uhh..."

Four sets of eyes were staring at me, waiting impatiently for a reply. I couldn't form one. So Edward did the simplest thing to solve the problem. He took my left hand and aimed the ring at their faces. I'm surprised the glare from the diamond didn't blind them.

Mike's skin paled while Jessica's mouth dropped open like a great white shark. "Oh. My. _God_," she stressed, unable to stop ogling the ring.

Angela was the first to recover from the shock. "You guys are getting married?"

I swallowed and nodded my head.

"When?" She said this normally, as if she were simply asking when it would be a good time to hang out again.

Edward squeezed my hand in a reassuring way. "We're thinking the last Friday in July," he answered for me.

Her eyebrows rose. "That's not too far off... But the weather should be nice then. It's usually a lot drier around here in July."

Jessica's eyes tore themselves away from the engagement ring and glanced down at my midsection. "Hmm... I'm sure July will be fine. You could probably still fit into a regular wedding dress without needing to make a special order. So how far along are you? Three, four months?"

Ben joined Jessica in staring at my belly. Mike was too busy shooting Edward a sneering glare to bother looking. We should have guessed an unexpected pregnancy would be everyone's first assumption...

Angela drew in a sudden intake of breath. "Jess!"

She frowned back at Angela. "What? I'm just curious."

I glanced up at Edward. His face wasn't shining an awful, blushing red like mine. He appeared more irritated than embarrassed - as though steam would soon be blasting from his ears like an overheated teakettle. "No one here is in the family way," he explained through his teeth.

Her nose wrinkled while she blinked rapidly. "Huh?"

I decided that I had better translate his fancy Edwardian speech into something she could better understand. "I'm not pregnant."

"Oh. Then how come you're getting married so quick?" Her eyes narrowed slightly as she said this.

He stared stonily at Jessica for a moment. "Perhaps it's because we love one another and are ready for the commitment."

While Jessica appeared too stumped by his response to speak, Ben took the opportunity to do some kind of weird handshake thing with Edward. "That's awesome, guys. Will I get to be there on the big day?" he grins.

"Of course. You will all be invited."

I nodded in agreement. The invitations would go out just as soon as Alice found the best design. She only had around a thousand to choose from. The problem was that she loved each one.

Jessica's head jerked back. "Whoa. You're gonna have - like - a real wedding? With a reception afterward and stuff?"

Since she was asking a non-humiliating question this time, I answered it for her. "Yeah. It will have everything you'd expect to see, I guess. Food. Cake. Dancing. Our families are making sure of that," I added dryly. The Cullens asked for Mom's phone number yesterday, so now she is feeding even more ideas to Esme and Alice to make the event a "success". I thought having an ice sculpture was going overboard, however my opinion appeared to be in the minority.

"So...you expect for us to have dates, right?"

"It isn't mandatory. But you can bring someone if you want."

Jessica did a quick perusal around the room. Her eyes landed on a face within our group. A sugary-sweet smile materialized without explanation.

"Mike!" she exclaimed, stepping close enough to the boy in question to be practically joined at the hip. "I just love what you did with your hair. Did you use a new brand of gel today?"

His brow furrowed into one long row. "No. I ran out of gel this morning. I only had enough to spike up half of my hair."

She giggled like a hyena, her hand playing with the hair on the nape of his neck "Really? You should totally style it this way all the time. It looks hot."

"You think so?"

"Definitely! When you pick me up for the wedding, this is exactly what I want to see on you when I open my door. OK?"

His brow knitted together again. "What?"

She took him by the arm and began escorting him outside. He didn't fight her at all. "And make sure you clean your SUV before you get me, Mike. The last time I was in it, you forgot about the bucket of worms on the passenger side and I stepped right in it. Do you know how long it took me to clean-"

I looked into the faces of Ben and Angela, who seemed equally as confused as me. Edward just frowned. It appeared that Mike and Jess were back on. Again.

It's been two weeks since their reconciliation, and they're still going. Of course, I wouldn't say that they're relationship is going strong since they bicker so much. But Jessica claims that she loves him and that they're just overly passionate about each other. I guess that's one way to put it.

Yesterday was Edward's birthday. I'm admittedly a little jealous that he's nineteen already. I prefer it when our ages are the same. He insisted on a private celebration in our meadow instead of enduring a big party. What do you give as a gift to the man who has everything? It's simple. A picnic of BLTs, a red velvet cupcake, and an hour of straddling his lap. He seemed happy with those presents at the time.

Today we have a different celebration to observe. June 21 is the official start of summer. The occasion is apparently a big deal to the Quileute wolf pack. Jake invited us to the reservation for a hot dog cookout on the beach. Edward and I accepted.

At this time last year, the Cullens and the pack barely spoke to one another. Things are different now. The change began when a curmudgeonly man named Billy from La Push - plus Jacob - started coming to Charlie's house to visit. They inevitably ran into Edward. Jake was OK with Edward but Billy still viewed him with skepticism. Evidently he believed there had to be something wrong with Edward since he didn't mind living with the Undead. Their relationship built slowly. Like, coral reef building slow. Yet Billy eventually discovered that Edward wasn't insane. And Edward found that underneath Billy's thick, stubborn hide was a decent human being. Edward began sharing what life was really like in the Cullen house. From the doting matriarch to the prankster Emmett, each story surprised Billy. I don't think he had ever accepted that vampires can form legitimate family units until Edward came along. Before Edward's revelation, he considered vampires as nothing more than cold, calculating creatures hell-bent on dining on any human with a heartbeat.

Thanks to Billy's influence, the tribe lightened up on their fears of the Cullens. The residents of La Push no longer avoid the Forks Hospital. Carlisle gives the tribe's elders a heads up whenever Alice foresees trouble brewing. Sam contacts Carlisle whenever a shape-shifter picks up the scent of an unfamiliar vampire out during their patrols and asks if it's anyone the Cullens can identify. It's a partnership of mutual benefit.

No one has acknowledged this out loud, but I know this breakthrough only came about because of one man's existence. _Edward_. It took hearing Carlisle's impassioned pleas to spare Edward's life from the nomad last year for Sam to begin to accept that the Cullens meant no harm. It took getting to know Edward better for Billy to accept that maybe he was wrong about the Cullens. If Edward wasn't here, would the wolf pack and the Cullens ever gotten along? Would relations have steadily deteriorated? That is a question I believe I know the answer to.

Edward and I arrive at First Beach when the sun hangs low in the sky. It's only us stepping out of his car today. Paul and some of the youngest members of the wolf pack do not yet trust having the Cullens cross on to their territory. Since a skittish shape-shifter is a bad thing, the Cullens agreed. They didn't appear hurt about it. It's not like they would be interested in scarfing down hot dogs anyway.

There's a crowd already gathered on the beach near a driftwood fire, blue and purple flames dancing within the stone circle. Jake envelopes me in a friendly hug and threatens to toss me into the air like a baby. I threaten to kick him in the balls. He carefully sets me back down. Meanwhile, Edward gets a dozen handshakes and back slaps from the males. Wedding invitations went out earlier this week. It mentioned a buffet style reception. The shape-shifters consider this joyful news. They always seem to be hungry.

Sam's fiancée, Emily, brushes off my offer to help and instead hands me a grilled hot dog and soda. As I take my first bite, a strong sea breeze blows in from the west. Goosebumps erupt from my neck and all the way down to my ankles. The wind is colder now that the sun isn't as bright.

What's wrong with this place? Why is it that the Olympic Peninsula is the only place in the Northern Hemisphere that feels like the surface of Pluto today? It's summer. I shouldn't have to worry about frostbite. But I guess the blame is on me for not wearing long sleeves.

Edward catches me in the act of rubbing my arms for warmth. I think he has a sixth sense in knowing when I'm uncomfortable and being generally pathetic. He encourages me to huddle with him in front of the fire. I don't want to do it, but I don't have much of a choice. Everyone else is wandering around and having a great time. Emily is wearing a tank top. Kim has on a skirt. Why is it that I'm always the only person shivering from the cold in June?

I stop the self-pity once Edward seats himself behind me, allowing his chest to become my nifty and muscular backrest. I lean back and relax. Both of his thumbs rub small circles into the outside of my hip bones. I warm up real quick.

A white-haired elder perches himself on a lone piece of driftwood, his back facing the setting sun. Silently he signals that it's time to pay homage to the tribe's history and beckons for everyone to take a seat. One by one, they circle around the bonfire. The elder speaks of the very first shape-shifter and how it's his blood which runs through the veins of today's wolf pack. He recites the legend of the Cold Ones and how they brought terror to the village of La Push hundreds of years ago. With eyes of red and bodies made from stone, the pack had been the tribe's only defense against these drinkers of human blood. Centuries after the first wolf pack passed on to the other side, a new generation came across a group of Cold Ones who were stranger than anything they had ever seen. These Cold Ones didn't behave like crazed animals on the hunt. They possessed golden eyes and lived as a family. They even had a leader who spoke calmly and rationally, a leader who wished for peace instead of war.

The sun is gone completely by the end of the old man's tale. Only the flames of the fire reflects enough light to see by. People rise from their seats and drift away to restart the conversations they were having earlier. It isn't long before Edward and I are the last ones at the fire. I know that I should be polite and join the group, but moving is impossible. Where I sit is peaceful, comfortable, and perfect. I see swirling, colorful flames tickling the night air. As I sit propped against Edward, I both hear and feel the rise and fall of his chest. Then I taste him too when he sneaks in a kiss once no one is looking. So, no. I'm not moving a muscle yet.

Just when I begin to think that we've been forgotten by our Quileute hosts, Seth Clearwater sits cross-legged before us. He's easily the largest fourteen year old in Washington state. Possibly the country. He became a member of the pack four months ago, right around the time his dad passed away from a sudden heart attack. It's a good thing he had Sam and Jake there for him during that difficult time. He's a good kid, always smiling it seems. But between Seth and his sister Leah, their poor mother must spend a ton on groceries. No wonder she has to grow a vegetable garden. It's to offset her son's gigantic appetite.

"Hello, Seth," Edward greets.

Seth wears a smirk, dark eyes flicking from Edward's face to mine. "Hey. Do you two often do this when you're invited to a party? Cuddling while everyone else is having a good time?"

Edward's hold on me tightens, bringing me even closer than I had been before. "Oh, I'm having a _very_ good time," he emphasizes in an amused tone.

It feels so good that my eyeballs threaten to roll into the back of my skull. "Me too."

Seth's nose crinkles, however I still spy a smile on his lips. "You guys are sickeningly sweet... But, seriously, have you two had fun tonight?"

I nod my head. "Sure we did. It was really interesting hearing all of those old legends."

"Yeah, I guess they would be pretty interesting to you guys, but I've heard them all before."

Edward barks out a small laugh. "I suppose tonight must have been quite boring for you then."

"Nah. I'm used to rehearing them over and over again. I just wish we could have done something more to add to the excitement."

I try to hold back a smile. "Like what? Fireworks display? Or maybe we could have had pony rides on the beach. I'd bet that would be fun," I tease.

"Or a magician act," Edward chuckles.

Seth's eyes become as luminous as the bonfire behind him. "Actually, that's kinda what I was thinking of. You know, every summer solstice we do something to celebrate the season's change. This year and last year were both pretty tame. Though - back two years ago - it was _awesome_."

My head pivots a few degrees on its side. "Really? What did you guys do?"

He leans in more, as though he's letting us in on a secret. "We went up on the cliff and had a summer solstice ceremony. Only a few of us were there for some reason - Billy said that it was important to keep the numbers low. Anyway, Sam lit this gigantic bonfire, right? Well, the flames must have reached a good ten feet up in the air. Then, right at sunset, us boys had to begin the ceremony. Each of us circled the fire. After we all had done that, Sam walked up, said a few words in our tribe's tongue, and threw something into the fire. And then, _bam_!"

Edward's body stiffens behind me. I peek over my shoulder to find his jaw clenched. Seth continues on, too caught up in his story to notice Edward's strange change in demeanor.

"The winds whipped up and everything went nuts for a little while. The flames of the fire doubled in size, almost licking the sky! We all stood around with our mouths hanging open. None of us had ever seen anything like it before. Then, just as suddenly as the winds came, they vanished. The fire instantly went out, leaving only a bit of smoke and its charred wood. After that, we went to the beach and ate. So all in all, it was a pretty great night if I say so myself." He ends the story with a proud smile and waits for our reaction.

Edward breaks the silence, his voice crisp but low. "Seth? Tell me again please, but when did you say that this happened?"

"Two years ago."

"And it was the first day of summer, you said?"

Seth nods eagerly. "Well, yeah. For some reason, Billy and the other tribe elders wanted to make it a bigger deal than usual... I wish we could do it again. I bet you guys would have enjoyed it." His mouth puckers out like Donald Duck's bill. "Maybe I should bring it up to Billy. We could do it next year."

When Seth makes a move to get up, Edward's hand shoots out and captures him by the wrist. "No. That's unnecessary, Seth. Bella and I had a wonderful time tonight. And I'm sure Billy had his reasons for only performing the ceremony once. Perhaps it's a once in a generation type of thing."

Seth tilts his head and stares at Edward for a few beats. Slowly, he nods twice. "Maybe," he drawls. Five seconds later, his confusion is gone and he's smiling again. "So I heard your wedding is gonna have an all-you-can-eat buffet. Do you guys know if there's gonna be any buffalo wings?"

Edward releases Seth's wrist and leans back against the driftwood log. As I try to chitchat with Seth, my eyes keep being drawn to Edward's face. That relaxed look he had earlier is gone. Whenever Seth says something funny, Edward's laugh is forced. Thankfully Seth doesn't appear to notice. But I sure do.

I hear his mom, Sue, calling for him and he bids us a quick goodbye. He jumps up and jogs over to help her move the ice cooler. Edward and I are once again left alone by the bonfire. He gazes into the flames, not saying a word. I do the same, allowing him the time to quietly muse before he explains his problem. Several minutes of silence goes by. My patience gradually dries up. It looks like I will be required to do some pushing to get it out of him.

I scan around to make sure no one is spying on us. Emily has pulled out more snacks, distracting a majority of the shape-shifters. I think we're safe.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" I ask in a whisper.

With my ear near his throat, I hear him swallow before he answers. "His story - it was... interesting. I think there's more to it than he realizes."

"What do you mean?"

I move my head just enough where I can see his face. His mouth is parted open, moving ever so slightly. "Bella... Do you remember the date that I first appeared here?"

"Yeah. It was June 20, 2004."

"And what is today?"

"June 21," I reply.

Edward's head moves up and down. "Yes, but today is also the summer solstice, correct? And Seth mentioned that the tribe conducted a ceremony in 2004 on the summer solstice..."

He says this as though I should see something significant, but I don't. "So, what does that mean? What's the problem?" I press, knitting my brow.

His eyes tear themselves away from the flames and meet my own. "The problem is that in 2004, the summer solstice fell on June 20, Bella. I believe that my appearance and their strange ceremony that night may be connected somehow."

A cold sensation crashes over me. "They brought you here?" I breathe.

Edward's eyes briefly glance downwards, broad shoulders shrugging once. "I doubt it was on purpose. I'm thinking that it was an unintended consequence. They were unaware of my existence until I ran into the Blacks in town."

I bite into my lip as the significance of everything swells. Edward spent two years wondering how he went from early twentieth century Chicago to early twenty-first century Forks. We have a possible answer on how that came to be. He had everything he treasured taken away that day. But now he can get it back.

"Maybe we should tell them," I suggest softly.

He shakes his head, not willing to give my idea a reasonable amount of consideration. "No. I'm not telling anyone about this."

"Why not?"

His hand buries itself into my hair and brushes through it several times. Eventually his fingers travel to my face, tracing over my cheek bones. "I don't want to upset anyone. I'd rather the Quileute remain unaware of my true origins than for them to feel guilt that they brought me here."

"But you could go back," I urge.

The sadness in his eyes instantly breaks into a raging fire. "I'm not leaving you," he says in a low growl.

My eyebrows snap together at his assumption. I whip my body all the way around to scowl at him head on. "I didn't say that. I'll go with you too."

His blazing eyes stretch wide for a moment. "No, you will not. Your life is here. Your family is here. I am not risking your life on something that has no guarantee to work out in the end."

The mention of my family has me frowning. To abandon Mom and Charlie would be difficult. I love them both. And I would miss Alice and the rest of the Cullens very much, too. But I would leave this time period with Edward right now if that's what he needs to be happy. He tried to adapt to 2006 for me. I can try to adapt to 1918 for him.

My voice softens. "But you said that you wanted to go back once. You said that's why you went to find the meadow again - to find your way back home."

He closes his eyes off and releases a heavy sigh. "I was willing to risk it then because I had nothing to lose. I had lost everything and felt that I didn't belong here." His eyelids reopen and he studies my face. "But, now I know that I do. And I'm not going to sacrifice your life on something that will probably fail."

"But your family..."

"Trust me, love, I would want nothing more than to save them. However, I will probably fail if I tried. Carlisle and I spoke of it often. We strategized on how I could go about doing it, but he always ended our conversations by reminding me of the dangers. The vortex may send me to some other time period - one that I would find unpleasant, like the ice age for instance. Then, if I somehow could make it back to 1918, there's the fact that I may show up after they had already passed away. I would be stuck there with no way to escape. And then there's the risk that I could catch the Spanish Influenza and suffer the same fate as they had. So... You see... It took me months to accept these facts, Bella. And, I know my mother well enough to guess what she would want me to do. And that would be for me to live my life - however strange it may be - to the fullest. Here, with you."

My heart bends and twists. It's strange to be half upset that he has given up on going back to his original home, yet also half relieved that he has. I guess it might be a little selfish of me to want to keep him here in a safer time period, free from a worldwide war and a deadly influenza outbreak. But at least that's what he wants, too.

"Are you sure?" I ask, examining him closely.

Hands gently cup my face. His lips press against my forehead. "I'm positive. I will be wherever you are - and this is exactly where you belong. I'm staying."

I nod my head, accepting his decision. He helps me to lay back onto his chest, resuming our position from earlier.

"Oh, and Bella? Let's keep this between ourselves. I don't want the Cullens worrying about this either. There would be arguments within the family of whether I should go back or not. I prefer to leave things as they are. And since we're close enough for the shape-shifters to be blocking Alice's visions, we should be safe from her prying eyes."

"All right," I whisper.

It doesn't escape my notice that his arms snake around my middle as we both gaze into the fire. My right hand finds his knee and massages it under the guise of comforting him. But I am afraid. I'm terrified of wormholes and mysterious ceremonies that evidently are not properly understood. He pulls me closer, burying his nose at the crown of my head. Tighter and tighter becomes his grip around me, as though he believes some unseen force may materialize at any moment to rip us apart.

**000000000000000000000**

**A/N- Don't worry about that last part. That isn't a foreshadowing of bad things to come...yet.**

**Next Chapter****\- Bella meets a vampire with a stronger libido than even Rosalie and Emmett. And, uh-oh! Edward has some explaining to do. **

**Stay safe and thanks for reading! :-)**


	30. Addicted To Love

**Chapter 30- Addicted To Love**

**July 28, 2006**

**00000000000000000000**

"My goodness, but I never expected for Esme to look so _young_. And beautiful! Do you know if she's had work done?" Mom questions with bright blue eyes.

Mom and Phil's plane touched down in Seattle yesterday afternoon. Earlier this morning she met Esme Cullen face to face for the first time. The two of them had bonded during their long distance phone calls this past month and a half. And to say that Mom was dumbstruck by Esme's beauty and charm is an understatement.

But her curiosity leaves me uncertain of how to handle this delicate situation. For a moment, I freeze up. Then I give an awkward laugh. "No plastic surgery that I know of. Esme's just blessed in the good looks department, I guess."

"They _all_ are," Charlie adds with a side twitch of his dark brown mustache.

The three members of my family stand with me outside of the only half decent restaurant in Forks, The Lodge, and wait for everyone else to arrive before we enter. Tonight we're having a small, private dinner in what Alice has referred to as a getting-to-know-you soirée for our families. In her eagerness to make the night special, she rented the entire restaurant for the night. So - as I try not to panic over how in roughly twenty-four hours I'll be expected to walk down the aisle without falling flat on my face - I will be also surrounded by my parents, Phil, the Blacks, the Cullens, and their invited guests from Alaska. The thought of meeting these "cousins" of theirs for the first time isn't helping my nerves either. From what I've heard, the members of this Denali coven are drop-dead gorgeous, animal blood drinkers just like them.

Now that I am thinking about it, I should probably go ahead and think up something to explain their appearance. God only knows what Mom is going to start blurting out once she's surrounded by almost a dozen unearthly beautiful beings who don't eat anything on their dinner plates. Maybe if I tell her they're originally from Beverly Hills, she'll assume they are just rich, eccentric humans who have an unhealthy dependence on Botox injections.

These past few weeks before the wedding have been hectic. Edward has been my only anchor as I ride through the storm. All it takes is a few whispered words and his hand in mine, and I temporarily forget about my high stress levels. Many last minute decisions regarding the ceremony, reception, and our future home had to be made. Alice was the one mainly in charge of the first two tasks, but Edward and I had to deal with the latter. Thankfully, we had Esme to help us scout for a decent place to live in Ithaca. She traveled there, took some snapshots, and explained each potential property's pros and cons. At first I had my eye on an apartment near Cornell's campus. One bedroom, a cramped bathroom, and a living room/kitchen combo made up its floorplan. It wasn't fancy (and I admit it was kind of small), but it had just enough space for the two of us. Plus, it earned bonus points because it was cheap. Edward crinkled his nose up at the pictures of the apartment, clearly displeased by the prospect of living there. I pointed out it would be easy to keep clean. He hinted that there would be no room for visitors, or his vast music collection.

A few properties later, Esme showed us a photo of a blue Craftsman style house. Four bedrooms. Three bathrooms. A large living area. The house was ridiculously huge considering only two people would be living there full-time. It was an old property that appeared charming on the outside but needed a few minor renovations on the inside. But when Esme gushed over how the downstairs back room would be "perfect" for Edward's grand piano and music collection, he was sold. I wasn't. I had seen the price. It had more zeros attached to it than I was comfortable with seeing. Edward defended the house by saying we would have plenty of space for when the Cullens or my parents inevitably visit. It was plain to see that he had fallen under its spell. I decided to hold off on saying no for the time being until I could think of a nice way of crushing his hopes.

A few days later, Esme produced more photos of the house's interior. She showed me its built-in bookshelves, a quaint window nook in the living room, and the comfy cushions which tempt you into curling up with a good book for an afternoon of reading.

So now Edward and I own a house in New York state that neither one of us has seen with our own eyes.

Once our housing situation had been settled, Alice bombarded me with other matters she deemed "urgent". First of all, she wanted to organize a bridal shower. My logic told me that Edward and I don't need our friends to gift us with embroidered hand towels and electric crock pots. I had the distinct feeling that once we step inside of our new home in early September, we will find a fully furnished house with everything we could possibly need. Alice couldn't deny it when I confronted her. She admitted that while Esme has been heading up the house's remodeling project, she has also ordered the essentials for the place.

After I shut down the bridal shower idea, Alice refocused her begging on something much worse. A bachelorette party. I couldn't believe she would even think I would approve. There's no doubt in my mind my mom would find out about it and want to join the party. And that's just too much of a risk. I know the woman too well. She would call up some Chippendale dancers to jiggle their goods in my face while she stuffs dollar bills into their Speedos. And that's definitely not a Bella approved, mother/daughter activity.

To add to the recent chaos, there was the incident which I have christened as Shoe-gate. It began as something small, yet it quickly blazed out of control. Alice had been yapping for the past month or so about how fantastic I will look on my wedding day. I had seen my gown and agreed it was just right for me. But I drew the line at a pair of matching ivory white shoes she had ordered. They were beautiful, of course. However, I don't possess RuPaul's graceful gait or Alice's sense of balance, so I had to politely pass on the wedge heels of potential disaster. Alice pouted and urged me to at least give them a try before refusing them. I crossed my arms at my chest. Alice pleaded with me to stop being stubborn. I rolled my eyes. Alice pouted some more. And then she offered a solution.

The very next day we were in Seattle searching for appropriate flats at her favorite department store. We found a pair within around fifteen minutes. The shoes are pearl white, fit like a dream, and feature tiny teardrop rhinestones that sparkle like diamonds. They also have anti-slip treads. Since I will be expected to slow dance with Edward during the reception, I desperately needed something safe to wear.

But what Alice conveniently neglected to mention beforehand was that the shopping trip was for more than shoes. She revealed that we needed to purchase items for my "trousseau". The term sounded vaguely familiar but for the life of me I couldn't recall what it meant. She explained that a trousseau is compromised of all the clothes a newly married woman may require during her honeymoon period and beyond. This was alarming news. I had heard many horror stories concerning Alice's extended shopping sprees. Two years ago, she supposedly bought out one boutique's entire inventory and needed two moving vans to get everything back home. She always claimed that the family was grossly exaggerating her shopping addiction and that I shouldn't believe everything they say. While that very well may be true, I would have rather hitchhiked to Forks on my own than test out that theory. I immediately began planning out ways to flee the department store before it was too late. But Alice was one step ahead of me that day. She held up a pair of crotchless, practically see-through, panties that I wouldn't be caught dead in and asked in a loud voice what color Edward would like best. Afterwards, I spent around seven hours being dragged from store to store just to make sure she wouldn't try to slip anything too raunchy into our shopping bags. Knowing her, she'd then sneak something embarrassing into my suitcase and Edward would find it during our honeymoon. Obviously, I couldn't let that happen. So thanks to Alice, I now have enough clothes to last for the rest of my life. And I have no plans on shopping ever again.

The only bright side to the shopping experience was that it allowed me to do some snooping. Edward has been really irritating lately about wanting to surprise me with things. First a proposal. Now the honeymoon location. All he has said regarding our trip is that we will be flying somewhere far away and we'll have a great time. That information is useless. He could take me to a seedy motel in Port Angeles and I'm sure we would have "a great time". I was well aware that the Cullens know the location. Including Alice. And since she was shopping for my honeymoon wardrobe, she would likely buy clothing appropriate to its location. I assumed if I kept my eyes peeled for clues, I might be able to take an educated guess on where Edward and I are going.

First I saw her grab a few sweaters. I concluded the place must get a little chilly. Next she grabbed a pair of snow boots. That lead me to believe my honeymoon would take place somewhere with lots of ice and snow, like the Himalayas. Then she bought sandals in my size, a thin sundress, and a few swimsuits. Oh. And I can't forget the snorkel mask. I began imagining an exotic, tropical island paradise, topped with an ice cold mountain. The possibility intrigued me until I heard someone snorting with laughter nearby. It turns out Alice was on to my plan the entire time. She was intentionally grabbing random clothing items to throw me off - though she did congratulate me on the creativity of my strategy. Unfortunately, I still have absolutely no idea where I'm going with Edward.

Tonight I am wearing an Alice approved outfit, a gray pantsuit with a white blouse. Charlie has on a button-up shirt with a dark red necktie, which is another Alice approved ensemble. He keeps shuffling his feet and yanking at the knot of his tie. Several times I have had to come to his rescue and straighten it back. He seems even more nervous about this big family gathering than me. At least there will be food there to comfort him.

At five minutes till six o'clock, two vehicles come into view on the highway. I recognize them immediately. The first is Carlisle's black Mercedes. The second car makes my blood pump a bit faster. It's silver and shines like a beacon in the twilight. Edward directs a smile at me right before he parks the Volvo in the restaurant's parking lot. My rational side forces myself to stay in place and wait for him to join me. Yet my instincts are telling me to sprint over there, pin Edward to the hood of the car, and attack him with everything I have. I haven't seen him at all today and I very badly want to express how much I missed him. Although the scenario is very tempting, I am aware things might get awkward around here if the two of us get arrested by my dad for lewd acts committed in public.

While Edward's arrival distracts my concentration, I don't take much notice of what's going on around me. It isn't until I hear a strange gasp do I look away from the Volvo. Carlisle, dressed in a tan sports coat, introduces himself to Mom and Phil. This is the first time either one of them have laid eyes on the patriarch of the Cullens. Phil's Adam's apple quivers in his throat as he stumbles out a weak hello. Mom stares and stares, barely blinking. I'm not sure if it's fear doing that to her or it's the fact that the vampire in front of her looks like a blonde version of silent film heartthrob, Rudolph Valentino. I get my answer once Carlisle compliments her dress. Her reaction is to giggle maniacally, like a teenage girl being flirted with for the very first time.

While she recovers from her swoon, Jasper saunters up, giving her a slight head nod of acknowledgement. She appears fine with the attention until he speaks.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he greets, choosing tonight to slip in his usually subdued Texas drawl.

Mom's bubbly giggles fill the air once again, evidently overcome by his cowboy appeal.

Then, as though there is a competition among the three vampires to discombobulate my mother, Emmett worms his way over and offers her his chilled hand to shake. Mom inevitably comments on his well-built physique. Not requiring any further encouragement, Emmett rolls up his shirt sleeves to display his bulging biceps. His muscles flex and dance, in the style of Popeye the Sailor Man after he eats a can of spinach. Mom's giggles morph into oohs and ahhs of delight.

Well...this is going better than I expected. They're doing such an excellent job at overwhelming her senses, Mom may never get a chance to ask them why they look like anemic Abercrombie & Finch models.

Warm lips press a kiss to my cheek. "Hello, love. You look divine," a voice, smoother than silk, whispers.

I suddenly forget all about Mom's fascination with my male vampire friends.

"Thanks," I smile up at Edward. I intentionally pause and allow my eyes to drift over his frame. "And I guess you don't look so bad yourself," I add as though it's only an afterthought. But who am I kidding? He's wearing a navy blue blazer and khaki pants. Of course he looks incredible.

He chuckles into my ear. "Hungry?"

I nod a couple of times. "Starving."

Hearing my declaration from a few feet away, Alice takes the initiative and ushers everyone inside of the restaurant. Billy rolls inside a couple of minutes later, but _without_ his son. Jake has patrol duty this evening and won't be able to show up until later. Meanwhile, the Denali cousins ring Carlisle's cellphone to let him know they are still about an hour away from Forks. Alice gives the go ahead for us to eat. It's not like the Denali clan will be upset because we ate without them. In fact, they're probably running late on purpose just to avoid having to place any food inside of their mouths.

The dinner is an informal affair. We break off into small groups to eat and talk. Charlie and Billy chomp down on t-bone steaks while watching some sporting event on the TV near the bar. Emmett sits beside them and cheers at the action on screen more than he pretends to eat his "dinner". Rosalie takes a few minuscule bites from her plate and watches the three males with an empty expression on her face, not bothering to conceal her boredom. I can't fault her in that. Baseball doesn't excite me either.

Across the room, Carlisle cuts up his pork chop into tiny pieces while chatting to Mom and Phil about his work at the hospital. Phil seems more at ease now than he was a few minutes ago. He's even asking questions to contribute to the discussion. And Mom appears just as enthralled by the handsome doctor as ever. At one point, he casts a pleasant grin that sends her into a bedazzled state. Looking at me immediately afterwards, all she can do is mouth the word "wow".

Edward and I sit at a corner table off by ourselves, trying to catch back up on everything we missed. The last time we were together was yesterday morning. Unfortunately, we haven't seen one another as much as we would like lately due to all the upcoming wedding chaos. I tell him about how Mom lost her new cellphone at the Port Angeles pier this afternoon. She searched her purse. It wasn't there. We scoured the benches around the pier. It wasn't there. We eventually had to accept that it had either been stolen or had fallen into the dark waters below. She shed quite a few tears at how her expensive gift from Phil was gone forever. Then we heard a familiar but muffled ringing nearby. It came from her bra. Why she would stuff her phone in there when she had a perfectly good purse remains a mystery to the both of us.

Edward's day mainly consisted of Alice "helping" him pack his luggage for our honeymoon trip. I'm sure this is code for "Alice did it all herself while I watched from a safe distance". This strategy is for the best. Alice is similar to a whirlwind when she packs, her exuberance causing her to toss clothing and other personal items through the air at high velocities. It's always a good idea to just sit back and allow her to finish before you investigate what she put in your suitcase.

Not long after the dinner plates are carted off by the waitstaff, a man and woman stroll in from outside. Their skin is very pale compared to mine, however their slight olive tone contrasts with the Cullens' chalky-white complexions.

"Eleazar! Carmen!" the leader of the Cullen clan calls out.

Carmen smiles and takes a few steps over to Carlisle. He accepts a hug and laughs at something she said. While they talk, I quietly admire her. Carmen's wavy hair is a dark brown, almost black in color. Her yellow-brown eyes shine in the dim light of the room, giving her appearance a mysterious quality. I also notice she boasts a more matured beauty than Alice or Rosalie. You would never believe her to be a high schooler.

Eleazar follows in Carmen's footsteps and slaps Carlisle's back as a way of greeting. His dapper suit is perfectly tailored and nearly matches the shade of his ebony hair. There's something about him which makes it clear he was changed at an older age than Carlisle. But regardless if he was turned at twenty or thirty years old, he remains inarguably attractive. Mom must agree since she's watching him with big, bug-eyes.

As I examine the vampire couple, a hand coaxes me to rise from my chair. I give a side glance to find Edward already standing and helping me up.

"I'm sure the Denali coven will be introducing themselves to you at any moment," he explains in a low voice. I give one head nod and adjust the placement of my blouse, trying desperately to appear presentable to these perfect creatures.

The restaurant door swings open seconds later. Two women step over the threshold, one a fraction of an inch taller than the other. The slightly taller woman's pale blonde hair is styled straight and parted down the center of her scalp. Thin eyebrows frame her face, giving her an analytical appearance.

Alice turns around upon the woman's arrival and sucks in a breath. "Irina, where did you get that handbag!" she coos in ecstasy, her focus devoted solely to the item in Irina's marble hand.

Standing beside her, Rosalie gives a drawn out eye roll. "Really, Alice? We haven't seen Kate or Irina in months. You couldn't think of anything better to say to them?"

The second woman joins their little group. "Oh, we understand Alice's language well enough. That was the kindest form of 'hello' you can give," Kate smiles.

I study and compare the features of these two strangers. Kate and Irina's faces are almost identical in structure. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that they are sometimes confused for twins. However, there are a few key differences between the two. Kate's hair is a sunny blonde instead of the moonbeam silver of Irina's locks. And Kate's facial expressions tend to appear more relaxed than her sibling's. But both women share extreme attractiveness as their common trait.

The restaurant door hinges groan once again. My attention darts away from Irina and Kate to examine the newcomer entering the building. It's a woman with hair flowing like a waterfall down her back, the strands a light reddish blonde. She's dressed in an off-the-shoulder white shirt, skin-tight black leggings, and a pair of knee-high boots to match. Her head is held high as she marches up to greet the Cullens. After speaking for a short time, her face abruptly snaps away from Esme and looks in my direction, giving me a better view than before. I'm halfway shocked by what I see. She almost beats Rosalie in beauty.

She leaves Esme embrace and saunters her way towards Edward and me. The female vampire's body shape is curvy, possessing an hourglass figure that would make a lot of people green with envy. Her hips begin a hypnotic swaying motion as she walks, almost like she's hula hooping without bothering to use the hoop.

Edward immediately hooks an arm around my waist and drags me closer, practically burying half of my body into his side. My eyebrows merge together.

This is strange.

He doesn't normally want to snuggle with me while in the presence of my father. This either has something to do maintaining decorum, or Edward not wanting to give Charlie a reason to shoot him.

The Jessica Rabbit doppelganger smiles as she advances closer. Each self-assured footstep oozes allure. If you were playing Pictionary and had to draw a picture to represent the word Sex, you would draw this woman. She is undeniably beautiful. You can't help but stare. Though I gradually come to realize that her own eyes are glued to one person in the room. And it sure isn't me.

Her walk of seduction halts right in front of the man I'm supposed to marry tomorrow evening. "Hi, Edward. It's been such a long time since we've seen each other." The husky voice pauses, allowing her enough time to gaze up at him through her long eyelashes. "I've missed you," she breathes out.

Edward shifts in place, his arm inadvertently pressing me deeper into his side. "Oh, yes. Well...we've _all_ missed our dear _cousins_. Emmett was telling me just the other day about how he couldn't wait to show Eleazar the new Hi-Def TV that he bought for-"

Her mouth parts open in a quiet gasp. "And, my! Just look at how much you've grown! You've filled out quite a bit since the last time I saw you." The woman's eyes slowly sweep over Edward's body, staring hungrily like she's thinking of taking a nibble. Her lips gradually lift in a different kind of smile, smirking in a way which would convince a monk to forget about his vow of chastity for a while. "Very nice," she purrs.

Edward sharply clears his throat. Then - in one swift movement - maneuvers me in between himself and the strawberry blonde. Her smile disappears in an instant. "Tanya, I don't believe that you've met my fiancée yet. This is Bella. Bella, love, this is Tanya - one of the members of the Denali clan."

I slap on a smile even though I kind of want to throw a pitcher of ice water at her perfect face. Maybe that would cool her off. "It's nice to meet you," I fib.

Tanya examines me closely for several seconds, like she's sizing me up. She must see that I'm not much of a threat because she produces a fake smile for me, too. Next she holds her arm out for a handshake. "It's a pleasure for me as well," she claims.

I can't help but glance up at Edward, searching for reassurance. Tanya wants to shake hands while simultaneously lusting after my soon-to-be husband? Sounds like a trap. One little "accidental" tug from her and I'm down to only one good arm. Though Edward isn't trying to stop me or anything. That helps me feel a little better. I guess he doesn't believe Tanya to be the murdering-humans-for-fun-or-revenge type of vampire.

I place my weak hand around her cold, hard palm. We go through the motions, moving our limbs up and down like we're long lost pals. She lets go first and slides her elegant hand along the curves of one side of her body, smoothing her clothes and accentuating her narrow waist at the same time. Her smile grows minutely wider and accompanies a laugh. "I was so intrigued when Carlisle called saying that our dear Edward was marrying. You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so surprised. I remember telling my sister that we just _had_ to attend the wedding."

Edward answers back with eyes which don't quite match the smile on his face. "And we're so happy that you all came."

"Tanya! Why didn't you tell me you installed a new walk-in closet?" Alice yells from thirty feet away. "What sort of lighting does it have?" She waves an impatient hand in the air, coaxing Tanya to join her.

Tanya pins her sultry gaze back on Edward. A sigh passes through her pink, pouting lips. "I guess I better go say hello to everyone. We'll have to catch up later, Edward." She pauses to look at me clinically, peering down her nose with another imitation of a smile. "And it was so _nice_ to have met you, Bella."

_Why, thank you, Tanya. And it was so NICE of you to refrain from rubbing yourself against Edward like a cat in heat while in my presence. I really appreciate it._

Nope. Can't say that.

"Yes. It was just lovely," I murmur, tight-lipped, as she struts away.

I wait until Tanya is occupied with Alice before I relax and cease monitoring her movements. Glancing up at Edward, I find his mouth set in a small frown. His broad shoulders droop, as if he has grown tired all of the sudden. I arch my eyebrow, silently waiting for him to explain why a vampire would hit on someone outside of her own species. I had no idea that was a thing.

He leans down close to my ear, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. "Later."

My forehead furrows at having to wait for an explanation. It must be serious judging by his reluctance to talk about it at the moment. But I guess I understand. It wouldn't be ideal for him to chat about Tanya just yet. She would potentially hear every word thanks to her super sense of hearing.

"Later," I nod.

The other members of the Denali coven drift over by ones and twos as the evening progresses. I'm prepared for the possibility of more of these supernaturally gorgeous women to flirt with Edward right in front of my face, but none of them do. Kate's personality is warm and friendly, giving a legitimate smile as opposed to the fake ones a certain someone casted upon me. Irina introduces herself next. She doesn't smile or laugh at all. I don't take offense because she offers us a sincere congratulations, so she's OK in my book. Eleazar gently squeezes my hand and claims my personality is enchanting. Carmen tells me Edward looks much happier than he did when she saw him nearly two years ago. They're OK in my book, too.

At 7:30, Jake finally waltzes into the restaurant. He notices Edward and me standing in the corner of the room almost immediately. Breaking into a large grin, he begins the trek over to us. My eyebrows lift as I get a good look at him, impressed by his attempt to dress up. The boy usually walks around bare-chested and shoeless, like a Pacific Northwest version of Tarzan. Tonight, however, he left his blue jean shorts at home and wears dark slacks and a dress shirt. Of course, he didn't do this because he wanted to. He complained when I told him that he needed to wear something nice. Although once Alice reminded him of the restaurant's "no shirt, no shoes, no service" policy, he easily gave in to my request. For a shape-shifter, free food is just too good to pass up.

As Jake travels through the restaurant, he walks within a few feet behind Tanya's back. She's in the midst of having a conversation with Jasper - one where she is doing a majority of the talking - when she abruptly pauses. An odd, strained expression washes over her, screwing up her lily-white face. Her head rotates as she scans the room. "Eew! What is that _horrible_ smell? I've never experienced anything like it," she cries, crinkling her nose.

Jake freezes mid-step. Slowly, he swings around to face the person who just spoke. Their sights cross a few beats later. The two of them give a silent exchange - her expression a mixture of disgust and puzzlement, his with decreasing friendliness.

Jake's black eyebrow cocks up almost to his hairline. "That would be _me_, sweetheart. And let me tell ya - _you_ don't smell so great yourself."

Amber eyes flash and faintly widen. Her head whips back around to Jasper. "Who is this _bozo_?" she stresses.

Jasper's face remains calm, matching his tone of voice. "That's one of the Quileute tribe members who has that special ability Carlisle spoke to you about. His father is a close friend to the bride's father."

Tanya's smooth forehead furrows. "I thought you said that they were friendly to you now? Based on what I'm seeing from this one, I'm shocked that you have been able to work with the Quileute at all if _this_ is what you've been forced to deal with." She ends her assessment with a nose pointed high in the air.

Jake's face darkens into a scowl, his index finger stabbing in her direction. "Hey, I'm a pretty easygoing guy until clueless leeches insult me to my face. Try being a little more _pleasant_ yourself - then maybe I'll give you a different reaction."

"You filthy, little mutt," she seethes between her teeth. "How _dare_ you say that to me. I've had _hairbrushes_ for longer than you've been alive. Show some respect."

Jake huffs a laugh, his brown eyes narrowed in a scornful grin. "That explains your appearance then. I've always heard that your kind were supposed to be forever young and beautiful. But what about you? Did that benefit skip you completely or something?"

Tanya's golden eyes ignite like a grease fire, glaring at Jake with an intensity that scares me. Jasper grabs her by the upper arm and pulls her towards the door before she can get out another word to Jake. It looks like she wants to kill him rather than give a retort, though. That's probably why Jasper is so intent on getting her outside.

"Oh, yeah," Jake calls out, cupping his hand over his mouth. "Let me know how your meeting with King Tut works out for you. I hear he gives great advice on how to conceal ugly faces underneath bandages. I'm sure it would do wonders for your self-esteem."

The put-down does exactly as intended. Tanya's pouty lips curl murderously. Jasper digs his fingers tighter into her marble flesh to keep her from flying at Jake's throat. Within seconds, Emmett materializes beside Tanya too and helps escort her out the front exit.

As soon as they are gone, I take a deep breath and peek around the room. Charlie, Billy, and Phil are staring at the ball game on TV like zombies, so it doesn't appear they noticed the ruckus. And Esme thankfully has Mom's nose buried deep in the photo album which shows how our house in New York is progressing. But that was close. Too close. If Jasper hadn't been there to stop them, Tanya and Jake might have had a supernatural knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of Forks. Half the buildings in the downtown could have been destroyed. And Mom and Dad would have discovered for themselves that my closest friends all have many, many secrets.

Jake struts up to Edward and me, a tiny smirk in place. He doesn't appear remorseful for the scene he helped create. He doesn't seem sorry for almost ruining the evening. No wonder Tanya looked like she wanted to flay him alive. He looks so cocky and full of himself right now. I kind of want to hurt him, too.

"Are you intensionally trying to start a fight tonight, or are you just being stupid again?" I hiss.

Jake's head jerks back slightly, probably surprised by my outburst. "It wasn't my fault. _She_ started it," he defends like a ten year old trying to explain away an argument on the school playground.

Edward lets out a rough sigh. "I'll admit it was quite entertaining to see that childish antics and insults can continue well into your adult life," he ends with a roll of the eyes.

Jake brays a laugh. "I know. I'm proud of the mummy thing. That _really_ seemed to tick her off."

My foot twitches, eager to kick him where it would hurt the most. I may not like Tanya a whole lot. And I may not be pleased to have her drooling after Edward. But no one deserves to be insulted the way Jake did to her tonight. It's beyond rude.

"You'd better behave yourself from now on. Or, we may take back your invitation," I threaten him.

Jake's jaw flops open. The thought of missing out on an open buffet probably hurts him more than not seeing the actual wedding ceremony. "Aww, come on. You can't expect me to say nothing when that _thing_ complained about my scent. I can't help it that she can't recognize awesomeness when it's right under her nose."

My glare hardens further. "I don't care if she tells you that you're infested with _fleas_ tomorrow. Play nice or you can just stay at home."

He frowns as though I told him to perform the impossible - like recreating the Sistine Chapel ceiling mural overnight. He looks pleadingly at my fiancé. "Come on, Edward. Help me out. Explain to her that my reputation is at stake here. I can't let some bloodsucking bimbo talk to me like that."

Edward's lips curve up slightly. He takes a step closer and clasps Jake's shoulder. "Let me give you some valuable advice. If Bella - or any other female for that matter - warns you not to do something, I would suggest that you follow their order. Bella will throw you out of the door herself if you do otherwise."

My anger fades and a smile takes its place. I think Edward is being a bit generous with my abilities, but it is a sweet thing for him to say.

Jake reluctantly promises to behave and urges us to take a seat while he eats his dinner. He orders a prime rib and devours it like he hasn't eaten in a week. There's a drop of grease on his chin when Tanya walks back inside. Jasper must have bathed her in an enormous amount of calming energy since she doesn't appear quite as angry anymore. Bless those mood altering abilities of his. But his sedating talent doesn't stop Jake and Tanya from staring at one another for a long moment. Just when I start worrying the situation is getting out of hand again, the two adversaries snap their heads in opposite directions and pretend the other does not exist for the reminder of the night.

It's dark outside when the party wraps up an hour later. Everyone shuffles outside into the parking lot. Alice sticks close beside me, rattling off the things I need to do tonight before I go to bed.

"Don't worry about showering when you get home if you don't feel like it," she advises. "You'll be doing it again first thing in the morning anyway. And remember I'll be at your place bright and early to pick you up. You have a full day of wedding day pampering to look forward to! So be sure to get a good night's sleep."

_Ugh. _ Putting makeup on a human shouldn't be this much of an exciting hobby for a vampire. I'm deathly afraid of that smile of hers. Who knows what evil things she has in store for me tomorrow. Maybe it was a bad idea to have agreed to let her "glam me up" just because I'm getting married.

"OK," I respond, concealing my terror for now.

"But DO exfoliate your face and neck with that cleanser I left on the bathroom counter. It will make our work a whole lot easier tomorrow if you do."

"OK."

Alice's mouth parts open. "Oh, yeah. Use the _green_ bottle of moisturizer before you go to bed. Only use the red one if your skin feels _really_ dry. I left instructions on how to apply it."

"OK," I repeat for the third time.

"And be sure you put on lip balm, too. I don't want your lips to be all cracked tomorrow. The best strategy is-"

"Alice?" Edward butts in, sliding between us. "I just noticed Eleazar's shoes. They're very nice. Do I have a pair like that?"

Her eyes dart around until she spots Eleazar climbing into the Denali's black SUV. A gleaming smile slips over her as she studies the shoes in question. "No, you don't. You usually wear Oxfords when you're in a suit. _Those_ are Derby style. Although...I'm not sure who designed them. The stitching is unusual. Maybe Eleazar found a new shoe maker I haven't heard of yet. I'll go find out!" And then she's gone in a flash.

I eye him skeptically. "You don't care about Eleazar's shoes at all, do you?" I accuse, holding in a laugh.

His finger lands on my lips. "Ssshhh. I was saving you. She would have spent the next fifteen minutes obsessing over your nighttime beauty routine if I didn't get rid of her."

I kiss the finger hovering at my mouth, after which he removes. "Thank you." Taking a breath, I casually check my immediate surroundings for any authority figures who might be listening. Mom and Phil are entering Carlisle's car since he volunteered to drive them back to their hotel in Port Angeles. Charlie is standing by the patrol car thirty feet away, waiting for me to say goodbye to everyone before we head for home.

I give Edward a pointed glance. "10:30?" I remind him quietly.

He nods his head once, silently acknowledging my proposed appointment in my bedroom tonight. Bending at the waist, he sweeps his lips quickly across my mouth. Then he straightens to his full height and walks backwards, holding my gaze all the while. "Goodnight," he broadcasts to the world, his voice just loud enough to be heard where Charlie stands. Making our "goodbye" believable is very important.

My hand rises from my side in a clumsy farewell gesture. "Umm. Yeah. Goodnight, Edward. I guess I won't be seeing you again until the ceremony, huh? I'm sure gonna miss you."

Wow. That sucked. I definitely wouldn't win any acting awards based on that performance.

Edward cracks a tiny smile, his eyes mirroring his amusement. "I'm afraid so. Take care until then."

He arrives at his car and unlocks it. Three vampire siblings pour into the back seat. At the same time, I walk leisurely up to the patrol car and slide inside. Charlie reverses out of the parking lot and merges on to the highway. Just before the restaurant disappears out of my sight, I see Alice hightailing it to the Volvo and hopping into its passenger seat. There's no doubt in my mind that she will spend the entire car ride home blabbering about men's dress shoes no one else cares to know about. Sadly, Edward brought that headache upon himself.

During the drive to our house, I spot Charlie rubbing his belly. Sometimes he moans. I'm shocked he hasn't loosened his belt yet. He ate _a lot_ tonight. When we pull into our driveway, he mutters something about going to bed a little bit early since we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. On the outside, I agree that it's a good idea and tell him goodnight as innocently as I can. But on the inside, I'm fist pumping in triumph. This couldn't get anymore perfect. My father will soon be in a full-fleged, food-induced coma. Edward should have no problem at all sneaking into the house tonight.

Charlie's passed out in bed before ten o'clock, his snores funneling down the hall and into my room. Just in case he were to wake up, I keep the overhead light in my bedroom switched off. A dark room at night is much less suspicious than a brightly lit one. I sit on the edge of my bed and tap my foot as I wait for Edward to arrive. Seconds feel like minutes. Minutes feel like hours. As 10:30 approaches, my spirits soar. Edward should be walking through that door at any moment. He's punctual to a fault.

But not tonight.

By 10:40, my thumbnail wedges underneath a tooth. When my digital clock shows 10:48, I'm already pacing the room like a caged animal. Edward never runs late. _Never_. He should have shown up long before now. Something must have gone wrong. Frightening thoughts pass through my head.

Maybe there was an accident. His car could have flown off a bridge and he's now bleeding to death at the bottom of a ravine...

Or, he could have picked up a hitchhiker and they turned out to be an escaped psychopath. Edward might be fistfighting for his life against a deranged person armed with a butcher knife...

Taking in a lung-full of air, I try to regather some semblance of sanity. Those possibilities are highly unlikely. Crazy stuff like that doesn't happen too often in Forks. A far more likely scenario is that a strawberry blonde vampire has him cornered somewhere, smiling and licking her perfect lips at the human she has all to her self.

My erratic breathing barges back at full-force.

_Yeah._

That last one is the scariest thought of them all.

My feet increase their pacing - threatening to burn a hole through the carpet - when I hear a clatter at my window. I rush across the room and push the curtains to the side. My eyes squint through the darkness until I spy a tall figure standing in the middle of the front yard. My heart rate reverts to a normal pattern for the first time in around fifteen minutes.

I throw open the glass of the window and stick my head outside. "What are you up to, Edward?" I whisper into the darkness, wondering why he's dawdling around in the grass instead of creeping up my staircase.

He answers by lifting an arm theatrically in the air. "O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white, upturned, wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds."

Edward + Shakespearean dialogue = Swooning Bella.

Resisting the urge to giggle like a loon, I try to appear as though what he said was no big deal. "Out of all the lines in Romeo And Juliet, you chose _that_ to serenade me in the middle of the night?"

He aims a smirk towards my bedroom. "Would you have preferred that cliché, '_But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?'_ Personally, I thought what I recited for you was much more original."

"It's definitely nice to see that you can think outside of the box, but why are you out here spouting out Shakespearian quotations in the first place? Isn't there more important things you should be doing right now?" _ Like, attaching your mouth to my neck and making me forget about voluptuous strawberry blonde females who undress you with their eyes._

His eyes crinkle in the corners as he grins. "If this is to be my last night as an unattached man, I thought that I should demonstrate how incredibly romantic I am before years of marriage transforms me into a dull, unimaginative husband."

This may be the biggest exaggeration Edward has ever told. No matter his age or marital status, I don't believe he could ever be considered dull.

My eyebrow cocks up an inch. "Oh? Then, by all means, continue on Romeo. But, please - skip the death scene. I think that would seriously ruin the romantic aspect of what you're trying to do," I tease.

"Actually, I was hoping that you would allow me to go off script and let Romeo enter Juliet's bedroom for awhile."

I tap my chin with a finger, pursing my lips. "I don't know... Juliet was told to get plenty of sleep for tomorrow. And, whenever Romeo visits her, he doesn't allow her much rest."

The strength of Edward's gaze multiplies by five. "Normally Juliet doesn't mind Romeo's visits. She has ordered him to come on many, many occasions. In fact, she told him to come tonight, if I recall correctly."

My lips protrude out further for a passing moment. Then, unable to contain it any longer, I break out into a wide grin. "You're right. Get up here already."

The night wind blows his gravelly laughter to my ears. Without needing any further instructions, he heads to the front door and lets himself in. Quietly, I shut the window and draw the curtains together. I then tiptoe to my bedroom door and manage to open it without alerting Charlie that I am awake.

Edward slips inside moments later, his back turned as he carefully closes the door. As soon as he swings around, I step up to him and weave my fingers through the silky mess of his hair. I pull him down to my level, taking control of the situation by capturing his lips. He gives in without making a fuss. Why would he? This is for his benefit, too.

We remain this way until we are forced to come up for oxygen. "What took you so long?" I pant, keeping my arms locked around his neck.

He huffs a laugh at the question. "Your _dear_ friend insisted that I remain at home instead of coming to see you. She said she hasn't been 'planning this wedding for months just so I could break tradition by seeing you before the ceremony'. I told her that as long as I left your place before the sun rises, I technically would not be seeing you the day of the wedding."

My cheeks hollow for a moment as I mull things over. "And I'm guessing Alice didn't buy that?"

"No, she did not," he confirms, shaking his head.

"So how is it that you're here then?"

His green eyes squint slightly as he tries to explain himself. "I created a ..._diversion_ to occupy her thoughts."

"What did you do?"

His lips curve into a sly grin. "I asked her if the napkins she bought for the wedding reception were on sale at the local discount store or if she was intentionally going for a thrifty, gauche look for the tables. So, at this very moment, she is rushing to Seattle to find more 'sophisticated' napkins."

I blink a few times, amazed he could so effectively outsmart a psychic being who receives visions inside her head. "Wow. I never realized that you were so sneaky, Edward."

His smile transitions to a more serious expression. "Now look here. You knew going into this that I would do anything for you - even angering a tiny person who could hurl me across the room with just a flick of her wrist. I told you that I would be here tonight, and I would never go back on my word."

My arms tighten around his neck. "I wasn't criticizing you. Actually, I'm very, very _glad_ that you are so sneaky," I emphasize.

The lopsided smile I love returns, much to my delight. "And thank the heavens for that," he murmurs, leaning in for another kiss.

Our movements grow less frantic and more relaxed as we get into the swing of things. His hands seize my waist and are soon wandering happily along the contours of my body. I hum a little into the kiss, enjoying every second of what he's doing. It's been too long since the last time we had a moment of privacy. Two days, five hours, and twenty minutes of time by my reckoning. That's just plain wrong.

He's readying himself to give my neck some attention when a buzzing noise has us recoiling in surprise. His lips stop all activity, paralyzed at a spot right under the corner of my jaw. Slowly, he backs away and dips a hand into his pants pocket. Taking a brief glance at the cellphone he extracted, he openly frowns at the screen. Seconds afterwards, he presses a button and the phone shuts down.

"Alice?" I guess with a wince.

His mouth twists to the side as he stuffs the phone back into his pocket. "Yes. She must have finally gotten a glimpse of us together. I suppose I should have mentioned that the tablecloths for the reception were hideous and felt like burlap sacks. That would have bought us a little more time," he muses aloud.

I fight off a pout and try to appear fine with whatever happens. But I'm not going to lie. This stinks. Alice could show up at any second and utilize her status as bridesmaidzilla to terrorize us into submission. I need to extract as much affection and information as I can from Edward before she drags him back to the Cullen house.

I release my hold from around his neck and pull him by the hand towards my bed. "Well... I guess we should use our time wisely then," I advise.

Tossing his shoes on the floor, he stretches out on the mattress. I crawl on my hands and knees to a spot directly by his side. He tucks me close, my head soon finding the perfect spot to rest on his shoulder. It's so comfortable that I almost forget what happened at the restaurant tonight.

_Almost._

I give him a small amount of time to unwind. He deserves it after going through the trouble of escaping Alice's clutches just so he could visit me.

Then, I spring my first question.

"So...is it _later_ yet?"

A long winded breath exits his mouth. "I suppose it is," he answers.

Around ten seconds passes by and he doesn't say another word. "Now, tell me what's up with Tanya," I prompt.

Edward rises a bit higher on the bed, moving up until the back of his neck hits the headboard. "Some of the Denalis are more than just vampires."

"OK. So what are they?"

There is a pregnant pause before he continues. "Have you ever heard of the term 'succubus' before?"

"Succubus... It sounds familiar. It's something from mythology, isn't it?"

"Yes. The creatures were said to amuse themselves by creeping into men's bedrooms at night and, well..." His words trail off into a soft cough. "-taking _advantage_ of the sleeping human that occupied the bed."

My face tilts ruminatively at the news. "Taking advantage? As in, slept with, right?"

"Right."

Pieces of the puzzle come together and lock in place, indicating a worrying trend. "So, you're saying that Tanya is a _succubus_?" I question in near disbelief.

"I suppose she is in a way. But it's more like she and her two sisters are the origins of the legend. They find a male..._friend_ for the night, have their way with him, and then set him about on his merry way. Though, long ago, they weren't so obliging. They used to feed from their companion once their - umm - activities were complete."

I peek up at him, watching him closely. "But now they only feed from animals."

He gives a short nod. "That's right."

My gaze intensifies as I ask the million dollar question. "So why did she seem so..._friendly_ to _you_?"

His fingers drag through his messy hair, emerald eyes looking anywhere but in my direction. "We met once before. Long ago. _Way_ before you moved to town."

I shoot him a sharp glare. "Yeah, I already knew that. Tell me what I _don't _know."

Edward's entire face cringes, as though someone just ripped a bandaid from his elbow and yanked out a few arm hairs. "She developed a slight - _a very tiny_ \- bit of interest in me when she last came down."

"Interest... As in, she _liked_ you?"

"_Like_, I believe, is too strong of a word for how she felt. I think she was more intrigued by the fact that I knew what she was and didn't fear her. I don't believe that she ever had any actual feelings towards me. I was simply a novelty in her eyes."

One of my eyebrows rises up to a sharp point. A novelty? I don't think so. It's been almost two years since Tanya last saw him. If she viewed him as a novelty, her interest would have moved on by now.

"She was checking you out tonight, Edward," I monotone in return.

Another sigh exhales through his nose. "I'm a human man. I think she instinctively does that with any male of our species now. It's a part of her routine, I'm sure."

I take a short time to examine his face, searching for signs of anything else he may be holding back. "So you're telling me all that happened back then was that she _looked_ at you? Nothing else?"

The muscles of his arm stiffens underneath where I lay my head. "Well...there was _one_ incident where she went a little too far," he drifts off.

"What happened?"

His left hand slides down his face, revealing an anxious expression once it's gone. "Almost everyone had left the house with the Denali coven - only Rose and Emmett stayed with me. I was working late that night in Carlisle's office. Once I was finished with my homework, I climbed the stairs to go to bed." He suddenly stops speaking, his gaze meeting mine with visible reluctance.

"And?"

He gulps loud enough for me to hear. "I found her in my room," he confesses in a tiny voice.

My eyes flinch by reflex. "In your room?"

"On my bed."

"Your bed?" I parrot, my tone rising.

"In lingerie," he adds quickly in one breath.

My brows strike the very top of my forehead, imitating a strongman game at a amusement park. "She was in _lingerie_?"

Edward's eyelids slam shut, blocking out the world around him. "Will you _please_ stop repeating everything I say? This is hard enough for me to tell you as it is. Hearing the words coming from your lips seems to make it sound infinitely worse," he groans.

My heart squeezes in my chest, threatening to burst as reality slowly sets in. "Sorry," I whisper back.

I glance down at my lap and try to hold myself together. Before tonight, I had always assumed Edward was inexperienced like me. A virgin. But now I see I was mistaken. Because Tanya is a vampire with an extensive sexual appetite. And, unlike me, it sounds like she knows how to successfully seduce a man. She waited for Edward in his bedroom with that very purpose in mind. And he must have made a very good impression that night since she still wants him just as badly.

A part of me wants to cover my ears and not hear another word about his history with Tanya. But I know the unanswered questions would eat me alive. I suck in my bottom lip and force myself to ask the question I dread the most. "So, what happened then?"

Edward's eyes reopen and focus on my face. He observes me mutely for a thousand years. Or a few seconds. Either way, it feels like a long time before he answers.

"Nothing," he enunciates clearly. "I told her, in as nice of a manner possible, I wasn't interested in her in that way and she needed to leave."

I stare without blinking for a while, barely comprehending what he said. "You had an outrageously gorgeous female in your bed - wanting you - and you didn't do _anything_?" I stress.

"That's correct."

My forehead furrows while I reorganize my thoughts. Tanya is a succubus. She knows how to entice men. The woman's an expert at this sort of thing. Yet Edward claims he sent her packing without so much as a kiss goodbye.

What's wrong with him?

Does he need eyeglasses? Tanya is a heterosexual teenage boy's fantasy come true. She was even kind enough to deliver herself to his bed. In lingerie! And he turned her _down_?

I moisten my lips and push out my newest question. "Why not?"

"Because she wasn't you," Edward shrugs, as though it's the most understandable reason in the world.

I narrow my eyes into a near scowl. "You didn't know me then. You can't use that as an explanation."

He flashes a heart-thumping smile, seizing my sense of rationale and holding it hostage. "Oh yes I most certainly can. I knew you from my dreams. How could you possibly think I would ever be unfaithful to my dream woman?"

The tense, stiff muscles in my body gradually loosens. Every so often Edward reminisces at how he saw me in his dreams decades before I was even born. I always say it's impossible for that to have happened. But then I'll inevitably remember that I'm talking about the same guy who touched a wormhole and skipped over eighty years of time. With him, the impossible _is_ reality. It may be difficult to understand why he never laid a finger on Tanya, but I do trust he is telling me the truth.

However, his wide grin bugs me. It's like he already knows that I believe him and everything is fine now. It's really annoying how he knows me so well. And also kind of hot. Evidently, I'm just chock full of fun little contradictions.

I shake my head at his confidence. "I should be terrified of you. You manage to wiggle yourself out of trouble just by exuding your charms. Maybe I should rethink this marriage thing. I'll never win any arguments if this is what you'll do."

His soft laughter hits the side of my neck. "I suppose that I need to remind you of why you agreed then. If I recall, you seemed to like it whenever I-" And then he moves in for the kill, placing his mouth directly below my ear and sucking at the skin there. It's my Achilles heel and he knows it. In no time flat, my core body temperature climbs to astronomical heights. Smooth lips wander down my neck, helping me to become nothing but a dazed, panting mess.

"Oh, yeah. _Now_ I remember," I heave. My hands gently push upon his chest. "But I need you to stop for a minute. I can't breathe."

Edward shows me mercy and detaches his lips from my skin. I suck in mouthfuls of air to stabilize my flushed cheeks, aching lungs, and pounding heart. After backing up a few inches, he chuckles happily while watching me recover. It kind of ticks me off. Why can't I do this to him?

"Proud of yourself, are we?" I challenge in between gasps.

His mouth rises into a crooked, self-satisfied smirk. "Undoubtedly."

My eyes narrow into slits. _Show off._

With very little convincing required, I'm back in his arms a minute later. To make up for causing me to forget how to breathe, Edward goes easy on me for a while. He limits his affection to my hands, occasionally brushing his mouth over my pulse point and knuckles. My eyelids flutter shut, basking in this perfect moment. Tonight he didn't want to be with a supernatural seductress willing to suck something besides his sweet-tasting blood. Edward is here with _me_. This is where he wanted to be. He is mine and I am his. And I am incredibly lucky to be so.

Edward abruptly stops lavishing kisses to my knuckles. I sense him holding up my left hand, twisting it from one side to the other. I grow curious as to what he's up and take a peek. I find Edward staring at my finger. Or more specifically, he stares at the elaborate engagement ring wrapped around my finger. He appears transfixed, unable to look away. The center diamond catches the muted light of the room and reflects it back, sparking like a star in the night sky. His thumb passes over the gold band, over and over again. He touches it gently, with a reverent luster in his eyes. It isn't hard to guess where his thoughts have wandered.

"Do you think your mother would have approved of you giving me her ring?" I say out of the blue.

It's a question I have often pondered. Of course, it's an honor to have her ring and I have no regrets about wearing it. But, I sometimes wonder if she would have approved. If Edward and I had met in 1918, would Mrs. Masen turned up her nose at the prospect of an average girl marrying her son? Or, would she have treated me kindly, like the daughter she never had?

Our sights cross and hold. A tiny hint of a smile softens Edward's expression further. "There's not a doubt in my mind. She would be pleased to know that a woman like you agreed to wear her ring. She would have loved you."

This is the first time he has ever said such a thing to me. His words envelope and comfort my heart like a blanket. "You really think so?"

"I don't think - I know. They _all_ would have."

The photographs from his past resurfaces in my mind, the people within them gazing from their world of black and white. I see an older but still handsome version of Edward, the stranger boasting darker hair but a similarly strong jawline. Mr. Masen. Another figure emerges to the forefront. She's feisty and hard-working, with graying hair rolled up in a bun. Martha, the housekeeper.

My next thought is one which Edward shot down a month ago - the very real possibility that we could go back to Pre-Prohibition era Chicago. All it would take is a meeting with Billy to arrange it and our hands touching the vortex, and then we might be sent back to another time. However, there is a chance that we may not land in the year we would have aimed for. The wormhole could very well drop us in 1618 instead of 1918. But at least we could say that we tried to go back. And we would still have one another wherever we end up. I can live with that.

Deeply exhaling, I try to phrase my question in a way he can easily understand without revealing any sensitive information. It's vital I watch what I say. Alice may overhear our conversation through her visions and know something is up if I'm not careful. Edward chose to keep his theory of how he reached this time period between the two of us, and I respect his wishes.

"Are you sure that you don't regret anything?" I hint softly.

The engagement ring no longer holds his concentration. His face pivots in my direction. "Yes, I'm sure." The expression he holds is solemn, but it shows no sign of uncertainty. I know he understands what I'm asking.

We revert to silence - a comfortable, peaceful silence. I secure my arm around his middle and snuggle closer. His fingers creep to my hair and run through the strands, sometimes stopping to play with the ends. It's our way of dealing with any past misfortune - by taking comfort in one another.

Several minutes into our serenity, a rumbling sound penetrates through the silence. It's so noisy that it jolts us upright into sitting positions on the bed. Our heads simultaneously snap towards the window. A distant car is traveling along the road, growing louder by the second. I'm pretty sure it's heading in our direction.

My grip on Edward's arm tightens as I picture who may be behind the steering wheel. I'm not ready for Alice to take Edward away yet. We've barely had a moment to ourselves this past week. Besides, most wedding traditions are overrated. And stupid. If Edward wants to stay here all night, that shouldn't be a problem. Whoever came up with the "keep the bride and groom apart until the ceremony" needs to be exposed and publicly shamed.

Much to my relief, the car does not stop. It drives past the house and soon vanishes into the night where it belongs. So that _wasn't_ bridesmaidzilla after all. But it's only a matter of time before it will be.

"How much longer do you think we have before she shows up?" I wonder aloud.

Edward's slumped shoulders shrug up and down. "I haven't the foggiest idea. It depends on if she found acceptable napkins quickly or if she's currently forcing every store in the Seattle city limits to open their doors for her," he responds with a touch of exhaustion.

Hmm. It could be a _long_ while before Alice appears, then.

I swing around to check the time. It's 11:30 on the dot. I have to be awake well before seven o'clock tomorrow morning. Alice said something about threading my eyebrows. That alone sounds like a nightmare. I think I deserve some happiness before the torture commences. And Edward knows how to provide it.

The ends of my mouth curl mischievously. The urge to tease him is suddenly too strong to resist. "It's getting pretty late. Are you sure you don't want to go home and get some sleep?"

Edward's relaxed demeanor changes on a dime. His gaze deepens and heats up the room. "How could you expect me to ever sleep knowing that I haven't given you the proper amount of attention tonight? There are vast amounts of your skin that I barely touched. I'm surprised you haven't complained about my dereliction of duty."

Mimicking his serious attitude, I stiffen my posture and thrust out my chest. "Then you better make it up to me then," I sniff haughtily. I stick my hand in front of him and he accepts it without question. "You can start there and work your way up."

He takes his assignment seriously, alternating between nipping at my mouth and scorching my body with his wet kisses. I say a silent thank you to my genius move of wearing my camisole shirt tonight instead of a frumpy t-shirt. This allows him much better access. He adjusts the strap of my shirt as he moves, apparently intending to taste every inch of my exposed skin. Not that I'm complaining. Actually, the little sounds I make probably lets him know that he should keep up the good work.

I'm lost to the sensation of his fingertips grazing my thigh and his mouth exploring my lower throat. The room spins like a vinyl record, making me dizzy. Just when I recover enough to not tip over, he decides to sample from the skin of my upper back. The feeling of his tongue and hot breath there brings up a million goosebumps. I moan out loud like a sex-deprived ghost. Whatever this man is doing to me, he needs to memorize it for future reference...

"Funs over!" a high-pitched voice squawks. "It's time for you to go home, Edward."

I reluctantly pry my eyes apart to find the top of Alice's dark head at the now-opened window. Her face, however, is hidden from view. She's either giving us privacy in case we are undressed, or she's aware that her scowling facial expression would give us a coronary.

Edward glares in her direction, wrapping his arms around my waist in a bear hug. "I've only been here for a little while. She needed me to come tonight," he snaps.

Drunk on the endorphins from our necking, I start giggling at the situation we've found ourselves in. "Yeah. He only made it to my shoulder blade. It's going to be at least another twenty minutes before he gets to the good part. Come back later." Edward chuckles right along with me.

Alice doesn't seem to think it's funny. Her face appears at the window, its expression one of pure fury. "I don't understand what's wrong with you two. You are getting _married_ tomorrow! You need sleep! The only bags I want to deal with are the ones I packed for your honeymoon. If you two keep this up, I'll be forced to utilize a tube of extra strength hemorrhoid cream to deal with the bags _under your_ _eyes_."

Edward's head cocks in my direction, his lips smirking. "How does that sound, my love? Is what she said worth me leaving early?"

I squint my eyes, pretending I need to think over this difficult question. Then I'm practically grinning. "Nope, I think I can handle it."

"Did you hear that?" he calls to Alice with dancing eyes. "She said it sounds fine to her. I'll try to get back home in a few hours." Not a second passes by before he's tugging me close again. We promptly forget all about our pissed off, uninvited guest. He latches on to my collar bone, driving me crazy and making me wish I could super glue his mouth there. What a great night...

A throaty, tiger growl fills my bedroom. She pulls herself up until she's sitting on the window sill, swinging her short legs inside. "_Edward_. If you don't come on right now, I'll get Jasper to come knock you out with fatigue," Alice threatens.

Edward pauses in his attentions towards me. Firm lips lift away from my collar bone just enough to speak. "Hmph... Five more minutes then," he argues.

Her black eyebrows slant downwards. "No. In five minutes it will be midnight, and then you would break wedding day tradition!" she whines, her voice almost panicked.

Edward's body tenses as they enter into a brief stare down. It doesn't take long before he exhales sharply through his nose. As my eyes wander up to meet his, I sense a change coursing through him.

"I have to go," he announces with a frown.

I knew this was coming. But that doesn't stop me from angling his head so I can have better access to his neck. His square jaw demands to be adored, and I never had the opportunity tonight to do it properly. "I don't want you to," I whimper between kisses.

Edward gently draws my mouth away from his neck so he may speak without being mauled. "Neither do I, love. But that infuriating pixie is throwing me death glares. I better leave before she blows a head gasket."

"I can _hear_ you," Alice sings like a nightingale from across the room.

A sigh slips past my lips as I create space between Edward and myself. "Fine," I pout.

One of his long fingers caresses an area below my chin, tilting my face upwards slightly so I will look him square in the eye. "Just think of this as your last night of reprieve. After tomorrow, you will be _wishing_ you could send me away so easily," he jokes.

I give him a long roll of the eyes. "Yeah, right," I snort. "I don't believe that's going to be an issue."

He leans forward with curving lips, his sights centered on my mouth. I close my eyes as he pecks a sweet but brief kiss. When the pressure vanishes, I hear him murmur. "Sleep well. I love you."

My eyelids flap open as he slowly backs away towards the exit. "I love you, too."

"Edward," Alice interrupts. He pauses in front of the bedroom door and glances in her direction. "You can't go out that way. Come over here and I'll help you down." She attempts to coax him over to the window by using an arm wave.

He stands tall and furrows his brow ridge into a dark glower. "That's unnecessary. I can walk out of here just fine, thank you."

_Cough!_

The three of us stop dead in our tracks, sharing a mutual wide-eyed stare.

Someone hacked a cough from the room down the hall.

_Charlie_.

_Is._

_Awake._

No one dares move a muscle. We strain our ears for signs of Charlie leaving his bed. Edward remains by the closed door, his hand hovering above the knob like a statue. Alice sits on the window sill, her eyes glazed over from a vision she watches playing within her head. And I'm sitting on my knees with a heart that almost leaped from my chest. This is just my luck. On the night before I'm supposed to be married, Charlie will finally catch on to what Edward and I have been up to for the past year or so. Will he try to ground me from my own wedding?

A very long minute of uncertainty drags by.

From a few feet away, Alice blinks and resumes a less tense stance. "He's back asleep," she whispers. She then cocks her head a few degrees and narrows her eyes at Edward. "Are you going to listen to me now?"

He heaves a sigh and abandons the door. "Yes." Shuffling across the room, he arrives at the opened window. Alice slides over several inches to give him room to sit. Edward maneuvers his long legs out the window and pauses. He gives me a warm smile, which I quickly return.

I expect for Alice to grab Edward and safely deposit him on the damp ground outside. What I don't expect is for Edward to throw me a wink and then slide out of the second story window on his own.

But that is exactly what he does.

As soon as he vanishes from sight, I let out a startled gasp. I can't believe he did that! That's at least a twenty foot drop! Is he trying to kill himself? Would that make me a widow if my fiancé dies _before_ the wedding?

I'm scrambling to get off the bed when Alice titters a laugh into her hand. "Calm down, Bella. Jazz caught him. There's nothing wrong. He's perfectly fine." Her head whips around to check on his welfare. "Well... he'll be fine as long as he behaves himself. I can't _believe_ he disobeyed my orders to stay home for the night," she grumbles.

The reminder that she wanted to keep us separated has me frowning in no time. When she catches a glimpse of the sour look on my face, she does a double-take.

"Are you mad at me for making him go home?" she laughs.

"Yes," I huff.

She stops her giggles but her lips still form a faint smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm doing this for a higher purpose. For one, you both need a decent night's rest. You'll be able to stay up for as long as you want soon enough. Isn't that what the honeymoon's for? And for two, a little time apart will make tomorrow evening even more special! You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder."

I grunt a begrudging agreement. I understand what she's saying. But that doesn't mean that I have to like it.

"So, did you do your skin care regimen like we talked about?" Alice wonders, changing the subject.

My head gives a silent confirmation, moving up and down. That "skin care regimen" took way longer than I anticipated. I'm not used to lathering myself up in all kinds of weird tonics and serums which must be applied in a certain order.

"Excellent," she purrs. "Your skin is the canvas and I will be the artist. It has to be in tip-top shape in order for me to create my masterpiece tomorrow."

I screw up my face. "I think you're exaggerating a bit. I'm no work of art."

"Oh yes you are. Trust me, we're going to make you look fabulous. Your guests won't be able to stop staring at you."

"I could walk down the aisle with toilet paper stuck to the sole of my shoe and accomplish that last part by myself, Alice," I deadpan.

She fakes a laugh and abruptly presses her marble lips together. "Very funny. But I'm not joking."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," I breathe out.

Alice glances at her wrist watch and almost jumps out of her skin. "Geez! I'd better be off. It's already well past your bedtime. Do you want Jazz to sedate you before we go?"

"No thanks. I think I can fall asleep on my own."

"Alrighty. See you at 7:15, then!" she chirps, preparing to slip out the window. At the same instant, a question enters my head and won't leave me be.

"Wait!" I yelp.

Already halfway out of the window, she pulls herself back inside. "Yeah?" she asks curiously.

I remove a lock of hair away from the side of my face. "Umm... Do you happen to know where the Denali coven is right now?"

"Sure do. They went hunting in the national park for a couple of hours. But, they're back at the house now. Carmen lucked up and caught a black bear."

"That's nice," I mumble. Swallowing hard, I glance down at my blanket. "So... Tanya is at your house, too?"

"Yes. She's in the living room at this very moment." Alice's voice changes to a soothing lullaby. "But you don't need to worry your pretty little head, Bella. She won't try anything with Edward. I promise."

I look up with scrunched up eyebrows. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm going to watch out for him tonight."

I cover my face with my hands and snort at how ridiculous that sounds. "Oh? You're planning to guard his virtue?" It's so funny, tears threaten to blur my vision. I swipe the palm of my hand over my eyes to dry them. "That's not necessary. Edward would never cheat. I trust him," I declare within a half-laugh.

She clasps a hand above her silent heart. "Aww! That is _so_ sweet. It's wonderful how your faith in him keeps you from feeling any jealousy. I mean...a lot of less secure women would freak if their significant other slept at the very same house as a succubus. You should be proud of yourself."

I hold my head a little higher. Alice is right. That is pretty cool of me. I rock.

Her finger jabs in my direction as she continues talking. "And do _you_ give a rip that Tanya is often regarded as one of the most beautiful females to ever walk the earth? Nope! Do you care that people often call her a sex goddess? No siree Bob!"

I give a vague nod of agreement. "That's right."

Alice's head tilts at an angle. "You know...Tanya is the type of female who's accustomed to getting what she wants, when she wants it. And she's probably the most persistent creature ever to exist. But what astounds me the most is that it doesn't bother you in the slightest. Nuh-uh! Because Bella Swan trusts Edward with _alllll_ her heart."

"Sure..."

Alice presses her fingertip to her mouth for a few seconds, as though deep in thought. "Hey! Here's a fun fact: Through the centuries, she's been with _hundreds_ of vampires and literally _thousands_ of human guys! Isn't that amazing?"

Suddenly feeling less confident, my tongue sweeps over my parched lips. "Uh. Yeah. That sure is... interesting."

"Isn't it though? But I believe you'll be much more intrigued to know that in Tanya's thousand years on this planet, only _one_ person rejected her advances and refused to sleep with her. And as luck would have it, he just so happens to reside on the third floor of the house she's staying at tonight."

My eyes bulge from their sockets, threatening to pop out and roll around on the floor like marbles. "Edward is the only guy to ever turn her down?"

"Yep. Tanya spent the last two years preparing for another go at him. But you don't care, do you? What's the worst that could happen? That he wakes up from a deep sleep to find a naked, man-hungry being determined to keep her record intact? Pfft! No big whoop, right?"

My confidence disappears in an instant. I collapse back into the pile of pillows on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. "Alice? On second thought, keeping your eye out for Edward might be a good idea," I monotone, aware her goal had been to get me to say this all along.

"OK!" she cheers.

Struck by another thought, I shoot back up into a sitting position. "But this doesn't mean I don't trust him. 'Cause I do. I just don't want Edward to wake up to that possibility."

"I understand completely. Have a good night!" She shimmies her lower half out the window and slips outside. Within seconds, pale fingers cling to the frame again. Her dark head briefly pops back into view. "Oh, yeah. I should probably let you know that Edward would have wanted me to monitor Tanya's whereabouts tonight anyway. The last time she visited, he was so worried she'd reappear in his room that he didn't get a wink of sleep."

And then with a giggle, Alice vanishes into the night.

**00000000000000000000**

I awaken to the distinctive smell of bacon. One eye peeks through a slitted lid. Early morning light filters into my bedroom. The alarm clock on my nightstand shows that I have only four more minutes before I'm supposed to get out of bed. With a groan, I cover my face with a pillow. I hate it when this happens. But at least the snooze button is there to help me out.

Then, it hits me. I can't sleep in. I'm getting married. Tonight. And Alice will be here soon to drive me to her house for a day of beauty maltreatment.

Deciding to go ahead and begin my day, I shuffle to the bathroom and take a shower. The hot water revives me, encouraging my half-lidded eyes to open fully. Now freshly showered, I step back out into the hallway and am assaulted by the scent of bacon once again. Having been lost in a sleepy daze a few minutes ago, I had forgotten all about it.

I wander into the kitchen and hover in the doorway. Charlie sits at the table, reading the sports section of the newspaper. He looks up and tips his head towards the stove. "Morning, Bells. I made breakfast."

Picking up a plate, I heap a decent sized portion of the only meal he knows how to make - bacon and scrambled eggs. It sounds a lot better than the granola bar I had been planning to munch on. I doubt rolled oats and a few peanuts would power me through today. But granola bars are a quick, easy meal. Along with Pop-Tarts and bowls of sugary cereal, I have always appreciated their convenience. I'm not what you would call a "morning person". Spending thirty minutes cooking a balanced breakfast sounds like more trouble than it's worth. I prefer sleeping in a little longer as opposed to slaving over a hot stove when I'm barely awake. It cuts down a lot on accidental burns.

Attacking the bacon first, I take a sip of juice to wash it down. Hmm... So good.

"Sleep OK ?" questions Charlie.

"Um-hmm," I answer into the glass.

"That's nice to hear." The sports section gets set aside so he can see me better. "You ready for your big day?"

I place the glass on the table and pick up my fork. "Yeah."

He twists his lips to the side for a moment, watching me eat a bite of egg. "No second thoughts?"

I swallow a mouthful of food and give a quick shake of the head. "Nope."

Several silent beats tick by.

"You sure?" he presses, chestnut brown eyebrows raising hopefully.

I answer his dumb question with a sharp glare. Right away, Charlie snatches the newspaper from the table and hides behind its pages. He has a good reason to be scared. I'm not happy at all. I can't believe this man. He should have been prepared for today by now. He had weeks to complain and make trouble. Leave it to Charlie to wait until the last minute.

For around three minutes, we say not a word. I eat my breakfast in peace, but the atmosphere feels tainted and awkward due to that passive aggressive comment he made. He must feel it too because I catch him peeking over the sports section every so often.

"Sorry," he apologizes soon enough, lowering his newspaper by several inches. "It's just hard to accept that you'll be off on your own after tonight. On a plane. Far away. _ With him_."

"What's wrong _'with him'_," I ask, using air-quotes. "I thought you liked Edward."

Charlie does a reluctant hum, curling his lip slightly. "He's OK."

"OK?" I repeat, faintly outraged. Edward being described by using such a lame term is borderline offensive. "That's all you can think to say?"

"Well, he's...better than most nineteen year old kids, I guess." He says this as though it's the best compliment he can come up with on such short notice.

I snort and shake my head. What a way to start my day...

Within seconds, his brow crashes together. He peers across the kitchen, expression dead serious. "But if that boy ever treats you the wrong way, you be sure to tell me," he demands ominously, a chubby finger poking into the wooden table.

I fix another hardened glare at my father, my eyes straining from the effort. Charlie is vastly underselling his relationship with Edward. A lot of times, he gets along with Edward better than he does with me. That's probably because I tend to tell him to his face if he's being an ass. On the other hand, Edward's so polite he will apologize himself if Charlie were to accidentally step on his toe.

"That isn't necessary, Dad," I snap. "Edward is a good person - as you have already learned. But even if he did do something wrong, you don't need to swoop in and save me. I can handle him myself. So keep your revolver in your holster where it belongs."

A frown becomes visible through his thick mustache. His gaze drifts to his calloused hands. "I just wanted you to know that you'd always have me to turn to if you ever needed anything."

This leaves me temporarily speechless. I forgot that Charlie Swan communicates his feelings differently than your average Joe. He doesn't say "I love you" or give hugs every time he sees you. Threats of violence against my future husband is Charlie's way of saying he cares for me. I'm almost positive I saw a similar theme in an old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. Arnold demonstrated his love for his kidnapped daughter by gunning down anyone who stood in his way of rescuing her. It was touching to watch - in a graphically violent sort of way.

My scowl slowly dissipates. "I know, Dad," I murmur. "And thanks for the thought. But everything will turn out fine. I'm sure of it." _Because my best friend who receives prophetic visions told me so._

Charlie nods his head and does a sharp sniff. Grabbing his sports section, he goes back to reading about the upcoming football pre-season. Our heart-warming Hallmark moment has ended apparently.

I take a few gulps of juice and resume eating. But as I place a slice of bacon in my mouth, my thoughts meander back to our conversation. Charlie said something about me being on an airplane with Edward after the wedding. I don't recall ever telling him that detail - which is one of the very few I know concerning this matter. So, who told him?

"Um... Dad?" I begin, drawing out the sound of his name. "I was wondering. Did you hear anything about this trip Edward and I will be going on?"

He moves his head up and down while keeping his focus centered on the newspaper in front of his face. "Mmm-hmm. Yes. I believe Edward brought it up a time or two," he replies in a distracted mutter.

I really did not expect this answer. I had no idea that he and Edward have talked about it. Charlie probably knows where I'm going on my honeymoon! This is _great_ news. Why, oh why, did I never think to ask this man any questions before now? I bet I can get some good hints out of him. Ha! This'll show Edward that it's futile to keep secrets from me.

"Oh. That's nice," I say in a level tone. No sense in letting him know how excited I am.

"Mmm." He doesn't add anything more.

My fingers drum against my knee. Charlie has never been much of a talker. I'm surprised the CIA never recruited him. He'd be nearly impossible to interrogate. If he were to be captured by a foreign power's intelligence agency, all he would do is hum and grunt to their questions. If I want to extract information out of him, I'll need to use my cunning intellect to be successful.

An idea forms in my head. I sit a little taller and feign confidence. "Edward and I talked about it, too," I lie breezily. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea to go there during the summer months. Don't you think it's too hot there right now? And maybe muggy, too? Sounds uncomfortable."

Charlie shrugs his head and shoulder at the same time, his nose still thrust inside the newspaper. "Don't know about that. Seems like it'd be the perfect temperature this time of year. I'm sure it will be fine."

My mouth puckers in deep thought. OK. So it sounds like our honeymoon destination isn't in the tropics. Unless Charlie means the perfect temperature_ is_ hot and muggy. Hmm... Or maybe we're headed to the southern hemisphere. Like Australia. Or Brazil. Wouldn't it be winter down there?

"I'm not telling you where you're going, kiddo." My startled eyes lock on Charlie's smirking face. "Edward said you'd try to quiz me on it. I didn't think you would. I thought you'd enjoy having a nice surprise for once in your life. Turns out I was wrong."

I snatch up my fork and shovel in my breakfast to keep from saying anything snarky in retort. It really sucks when I'm practically the only person left out of the loop.

Alice floats into the kitchen at precisely 7:15 to drive me to her house. I shout out a goodbye to Charlie before I leave. She in turn reminds him to be at her house and dressed in his tux by 4 o'clock. He'll have to pass inspection before he will be allowed to be seen by the guests. Charlie gives a quick salute and directs his interest back to the newspaper.

I'm carefully walking down the porch steps when the heavy weight of what's happening in a few hours suddenly leaves me breathless. Today is my last day living in Forks. Tomorrow I'll be wherever the hell Edward is flying us to. And then we'll be living in Ithaca, New York for the foreseeable future. Edward and I will only return to Forks every so often to visit our family and friends.

Wandering up to the rusting red truck parked in the front yard, I place my hand on the hood and pat the cool metal. The truck is something else I'm leaving behind. I had the option of shipping her to my new home, but it felt wrong to take her there. She belongs in Forks, where people will still appreciate her solid frame and roomy bed. Maybe Charlie won't mind taking her for a spin every so often so she doesn't get lonely. And while he's at it, he can call up a shrink to ask why his daughter speaks about a truck as though it's a living thing.

I join Alice at Carlisle's Mercedes and slide into the vehicle's passenger seat. Now that we're out of Charlie's hearing range, I feel safe enough to press her for information.

"So how'd everything go last night?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"It went well. Tanya stayed downstairs and Edward slept undisturbed. If there's any debauchery you may be interested in, you'll just have to teach him the ropes yourself," she grins impishly.

I choose to ignore her teasing for now. The good news relaxes me into my seat. I'm much too happy to even care if she wants to poke fun.

"OK," Alice drawls. Cranking the engine, she glances over and gives a warning. "Ready or not, here we go."

I quickly buckle up my seat belt. One hand slaps over my eyes. The other holds on tight to the center console, bracing for the worst. A second later, the car changes out of park and takes off like a rocket down the street. When Alice drives, this is the only way I can travel safely. Looking out the car windows while trees are zipping by in a blur is not recommended for someone like me.

During the drive, she mentions Edward, Emmett, and Jasper are on a boys outing in Port Angeles for the day. Before they head back home, they will pick up my mom and Phil from their hotel. This worries me. Edward will be with Mom for an entire hour's drive without me being present? That's not good. What if she wants to make small talk and reveals all my childhood secrets? Like, how at ten years old I fell and twisted my ankle during Capture The Flag - thereby becoming known as Bella Fella among my bunkmates at summer camp. Or, how my ballet instructor almost quit her job once she realized my two left feet had no hope of not tripping during the upcoming Christmas recital. I think I destroyed the Nutcracker set beyond repair. Edward knowing these secrets would prove embarrassing. He may want to reconsider our relationship if he were to find out my clumsy disease has been a lifelong curse.

We arrive at the Cullen residence within minutes. Alice and I enter side by side. I take approximately three steps when my body roots itself in place. The downstairs portion of the mansion has been transformed into a dreamland. Flowers of ivory, cream, and snowy white are everywhere. They're even on the ceiling thanks to Esme and Kate, both of whom are using tall ladders to hang them by their green stems. Carlisle, Carmen, and Irina set up row upon row of white cushioned chairs for our guests. Since she will be playing the Wedding March for us tonight, Rosalie carefully dusts Edward's piano and tries to decide where to place a bouquet of lilacs and freesia. Eleazar and Tanya work to build an arch where Edward and I will say our vows. Everything is outrageously expensive and ornate. But it's also beautiful. I can't find it in me to utter a word of complaint for all the fuss they're undertaking.

I want to stay and help them decorate but Alice won't hear of it. She marches me up to her bedroom and closes the door behind her. I cringe at what I see. It looks like a beauty supply company's warehouse with all the products scattered around. I pick up a bottle at random and study the label. Bee venom facial. I toss it on the table and back away as though it's a bomb ready to explode. Nope, not gonna let her put that on my face today. She'll have to make do with the zillion other products to glam me up.

Folding a terry cloth robe onto my arm, Alice directs me to her bathroom. I pull out of my jeans and t-shirt and slip into the comfy white robe. Once that's done, I seat myself in a chair in the exact middle of Alice's room, watching her with wary eyes. Armed with a tube of unidentifiable cream, she stands several feet away. She takes her sweet time in analyzing me, from my head all the way to my bare feet. Her eyelids lower into narrow cracks, probably using her ultra-sensitive eyesight to check the condition of my skin. Soon, she's standing taller and smiling.

"Your pores are free from clogs and there isn't any shiny patches. I think we'll be going for a more natural look for you today. This will work out perfectly," she pronounces optimistically.

I knit my eyebrows tightly together. "A natural look? Then why the hell am I over here so early? I could have slept a little longer."

Alice shakes her head sadly and sighs. "Oh, Bella. How could you not know? The natural look is the most difficult to pull off!"

My mouth dips into a frown. Of course it is.

For the next hour, I am subjected to unspeakable (and probably illegal since torture is banned by the U.N.) beauty treatment devices that she swears will make my skin look fantastic. One device features tiny needles to pierce your skin which "improves elasticity". I don't know about that. But I _can_ confirm it makes human girls scream as though an iron maiden's spike is stabbing through their flesh.

Mercifully, Alice moves on to other things to give my face a break. She's working on pushing back the cuticles on my right hand when there is a knock at the door.

"Come in," she responds from her foot stool directly in front of me.

The bedroom door creeps ajar. I figure it's Rosalie or Esme peeking in to check my pulse since I haven't cried out in pain in the last several minutes. A long leg appears in the doorway first, followed by a curvaceous body and the face of Venus de Milo.

I blink several times in rapid succession. I must be seeing things. Because this woman shouldn't want to even be in the same house as me, let alone the same room. But, here she is regardless.

Tanya.

She walks slowly into the bedroom, her tawny cat-eyes pinpointed on Alice and me. Her hips don't sway seductively the way they did last night. Stopping around five feet away, she finally speaks.

"Good morning, Bella," greets Tanya in a low voice, her face nearly devoid of expression.

I clear my throat and fidget in the chair. "Err... Good morning to you, too."

Tanya remains focused on me several seconds more before her attention switches to Alice. "Giving the bride a manicure, I see," she observes in a louder, less strained tone.

Alice keeps her face tilted down on my fingers and doesn't look up. "Yep. Just giving her cuticles a bit of care before we move on to painting the nails with some base coat."

Tanya nods in a slow up and down pattern, her mouth pursed as she watches. A full minute passes before she adds anything more.

"Alice? Would you mind if I give it a try? It's been _ages_ since I've given anyone a manicure. I've always enjoyed it. You can take a break and I'll take over for a bit, if you'd like," she offers.

In roughly 0.4 nanoseconds, Alice shoots up from her foot stool and bounces on the tips of her toes. "Sure! Why not?"

My stomach shrivels up into a raisin and flops to my feet. The beating of my heart goes through the roof. What is Alice doing? She can't leave me alone with Tanya!

Alice spins around to face me, her hand patting my knee. "I'm going to check on how the decorating is progressing. I'll be back in a few." Her voice drops an octave. "Don't worry about Tanya. She knows what she's doing."

I'm on the verge of protesting, but Alice is already long gone by the time I open my mouth. Stupid vampire speed.

Now I'm alone. With the woman/vampire/succubus that desires Edward. And I stand in her way to success.

This is terrible. Tanya could kill me any second. She might even stage it to look like an accident. I'll be the first person ever with the words "died by manicure" listed on her death certificate. And I can't imagine there being anything more embarrassing than that.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N- **

**Next Chapter****\- Tanya vs Bella - a battle between vampire and human. Who will win? Just kidding. I think we know how that would end. But for real this time, Tanya has a heart to heart with Bella (yes, Tanya does in fact have one). Bella walks (or trips?) down the aisle. And the honeymoon commences. It's gonna be hot. Bella and Edward play checkers until they fall asleep at nine o'clock. Or maybe I'm just kidding again about that last part... **

**Stay smart and safe, please. And thanks for reading! :-)**


	31. We've Only Just Begun

**A/N- Normal people split up chapters once they exceed a certain length. Lunatics keep right on going until the word count rises above 19,000. Guess which category I fall into.**

* * *

**Chapter 31- We've Only Just Begun**

**July 29, 2006**

**Oooooooooooooooooooo**

I'm frozen to the seat of my chair, cold fear flowing through my veins. I keep a close eye on the strawberry blonde who volunteered to give me a wedding day manicure - the very same vampire seductress who leered at Edward last night and didn't care that his fiancée stood a foot away. The only conclusion I can draw is that she's here to eliminate her competition. Me. Honestly, it wouldn't be difficult to take me out of the picture. One poke from Tanya's pinkie finger into my chest and I would be a goner. Then, she would be free to give "comfort" to Edward after my funeral. Well...I hope she can wait that long. It would be tacky of her to proposition him while he's still weeping over my grave.

Seemingly unaware of my anxiety, Tanya takes a seat on the footstool Alice recently vacated. Without a word, she picks up a wooden tool and works to push back my cuticles. Her hands are solid and cool, like polished steel on a refrigerator door. My own hands are trembling - but it's definitely not from her low skin temperature.

Tanya glances up briefly, not pausing in her task. "Having a nice day?"

Yeah. Everything's going swell so far. I'm still breathing and in control of all my bodily functions. Peeing all over myself right now sure wouldn't help matters.

"It's been fine," I reply in a small voice.

"That's good."

Minutes of silence stretch by. I anticipate Tanya crushing my bones at any second, or maybe ripping a fingernail off to hint at her displeasure of not having Edward all to herself last night. But she doesn't hurt or maim me one bit. She handles my fingers carefully, working until the nails of both my left and right hands are ready to be polished.

With the job complete, her bright amber eyes meet my suspicious brown. A trace of a smile plays on her flawless, pink lips. "I'm sure you're wondering why I came up here today."

My lower jaw moves around, hesitating as I think of a safe way to respond. "It did cross my mind once or twice," I answer cautiously.

Tanya places the cuticle pusher on a side table and links her fingers together on her lap. "I wanted to talk to you. Alone."

"O-oh?" I stammer, my eyes darting around in search of a weapon. Then I recall that Tanya is invincible to everything but fire. So - unless Alice keeps a flamethrower up here in her bedroom closet - I'm screwed.

Tanya scoots the footstool closer by several inches. "Yes. I have a bit of a confession to make. I don't know how much the Cullens have told you about me, but I have sort of a problem. An addiction problem, I guess you could say. You see, Bella... I love men. And sex. Sometimes my craving for it makes me lose sight of what I should and shouldn't be doing." Her long hair bounces as she laughs. "Or maybe I should say _WHO_ I shouldn't be doing."

I nod and smile weakly along with her, like I understand where she's coming from. Although inside my head, I'm screaming. _Alice__, stop worrying __if you put enough ribbons on the wedding guests' chairs downstairs and__ get your butt back up here! _The last thing I want to do is chat about Tanya's sex life.

One of her long legs crosses onto a knee. "I love how men make me feel when I'm with them. I'm not too picky either. Sampling from a variety is a good thing if you ask me. Short. Tall. Chubby. Skinny. Light skin. Dark skin. Young. Old. Human. Immortal. None of that matters too much as long as I like their personalities. Normally all I need to do is flirt a little and I'll have the guy eating out of the palm of my hand in no time. And then..." Her mouth lifts into a smirk. "I'm sure you can guess what comes next."

I don't utter a word. Instead, I watch her smile gradually fade into nothing. "One of the only rules I have is that the man I'm interested in must be unattached," she continues. "No exceptions. But last night I let my pride get the better of me and ignored that rule. I told myself that since Edward wasn't married yet, he's technically single." Tanya's shoulders collapse under the weight of guilt. "And I never once considered I was doing anything wrong. It wasn't until my sisters put together an intervention last night did I come to my senses."

"An intervention?" I repeat, squinting my eyes confusedly.

"Yes. My sisters sat me down and had a long talk about my behavior. Until they spoke up, I had failed to realize I had done some morally questionable things as of late. I can't believe how selfish I've been. Harassing an engaged man is inexcusable." She shakes her head at herself. "I am _very_ sorry, Bella. I disrespected both you _and_ Edward last night. I know my apology may not mean much to you, but I wanted to give it just the same."

Slowly, I relax and stop worrying that Tanya is here to kill me. I admit she looks apologetic, but I'm not ready to hand out forgiveness yet. There are a few things that I would like to understand first.

"May I ask you something?" I inquire timidly.

"You may."

A canine tooth drags along my bottom lip as I form my question. "What did you mean when you said 'your pride got the better of you' last night?" Although I have a good idea what she meant by that remark, I would still like to hear her take on it.

She peeks down at her lap for a short spell before responding. "It's like I explained before, it's usually a cinch for me to seduce a man. Especially a _human_ man. Give 'em a wink, squeeze their knee just right, and then the poor things are practically begging you to take them home for the night. Then along came a new challenge for me to take on. Edward." She tosses a clump of her hair behind a shoulder and purses her mouth. "Truth be told, I don't mess with teenage boys very often. Usually their immaturity and inexperience are enough to keep me disinterested. Though, I _was_ willing to make an exception with Edward. It's not every day you come across someone like him. A boy who was born over a hundred years ago and lives among a coven of vampires? Fascinating. He was attractive, too - by human standards, at least. I began viewing him as I would a rare, one-of-a-kind collector's item. Bedding him would certainly be memorable." Her eyes stretch wide as they meet my gaze. "Excuse me for being so blunt."

Swallowing down my discomfort, I shake my head. "No. It's fine. I appreciate the honesty. Continue, please."

Tanya gives a tight smile for a fraction of a second. "I tried everything I could think of to lure him in. I flirted. I dropped hints. Nothing worked. It was like the boy was immune to everything I threw at him. That has _never_ happened to me in all my years. Before him, the toughest nut I had to crack gave in to my advances within an hour. And the only reason it took that long was because the guy had to wait until he was off duty before we could do anything. Those Mounties sure are a stickler for following the rules up there in the Yukon," she ends with an exasperated sigh.

Shrugging off that disappointing memory, Tanya goes on with her explanation. "In the first few hours after Edward's rejection, I took him at his word and accepted he was a traditional guy who just wasn't the type to sleep around. It's an admirable trait for sure, but for the life of me I don't see how anyone would want to wait around forever for the perfect person to show up. I mean...look at me. If I had saved myself for my future mate, I'd still be a virgin these one thousand and twenty-three years." Her small button nose scrunches up and she shivers violently. "Ugh! What a _horrible_ thought. I think sex was the only thing that got me through the Dark Ages. Trust me - it was even more depressing than it sounds.

"Anyway, I took Edward's decision in stride at first. But once I arrived home and thought back on it, the more it bothered me. A hormonal teenage boy told me 'no'. A human male rejected _me_," she emphasizes, jabbing her ivory thumb into her breast. Her elegant hand slips slowly down her chest and falls open onto her lap. "I guess you could say he bruised my ego. I began questioning everything about myself. Was I losing my touch and that's why he turned me down? Did he not find me attractive enough? Perhaps I wasn't as alluring as I had been once upon a time."

My forehead scrunches together. Tanya is a vampire. She's beyond gorgeous. If a creature like her can feel insecurity, what hope do I have to ever be confident about myself?

Gazing ruminatively out the window, she watches a tree sway in the breeze. "To save my pride, I came up with excuses to explain what went wrong. Eventually I settled on believing he was asexual. It explained everything - or so I thought. Edward's lack of sex drive. The fact he wasn't dating anyone at the time. His disinterest in me. It fit right in."

She pauses, flicking her attention back to my face. "Well, fast forward to a few weeks ago. Irina gets a phone call from Esme. And surprise, surprise - Edward is getting married soon. The news blew me away. Obviously, asexuality had never been the problem. It was _me_ after all."

Tanya's beautiful face screws up into a frown. "I think this is where I went a little crazy, Bella. I got it into my head that Edward must have needed some extra time growing up and now he would be more receptive to what I have to offer. I felt positive things would be different this time if I gave him another go. My plan was to come down here, prove to myself that I've still got it, and succeed where I had failed before. Then, I could count Edward as just another one of my many conquests." She grimaces, her pouty lips curled in disgust. "How narcissistic that sounds."

I clear my throat and sit up straighter in my chair. "So...you never had feelings for him?"

Her head jerks back, blonde brows drawing together. Seconds pass. Then she cackles a laugh. "Oh, heavens no! Don't get me wrong. He's a wonderful person and probably the most charming human I've come across in years, but I certainly don't love him. In fact, I've never been fortunate enough to feel anything more than attraction to anyone. But my goodness, I've put in plenty of time looking for the right man. That's one reason why I've kept my options open. I believed having both mortals and immortals as partners would better my chances at finding my mate. Turns out it hasn't helped much," she reveals, eyes glazing over wistfully.

Before this moment, never would I have imagined I'd feel bad for a glamorous femme fatale who has claimed more lovers in her lifetime than there are entries in the local telephone book. But I do. It took me less than two decades to find the right person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Tanya has been through a hundred decades without someone special. No wonder she's got issues.

"That sounds awful," I admit.

She shrugs a shoulder and sighs. "I agree it's not an ideal situation, but it hasn't been too terrible either. My male acquaintances through the centuries have been nice company. They do a decent job of keeping my mind off less pleasant things - even if it's only for a night or two. Though in hindsight, Napoleon wasn't so great. He kept wanting to check himself out in the mirror the entire time we were together. I think looking at his own reflection turned him on more than anything I did for him." Her mouth pinches together. "What a creep."

My curiosity has me speaking before I can stop myself. "But isn't it hard to be around human men like that? How do you keep yourself from hurting them?"

A laugh passes over her lips. "Oh, does that bring back memories, honey." She stares into my eyes with less confidence than before. "My sisters and I have had an interesting past. Has - uh - anyone told you how it began?"

"They told me a little."

"You know of the succubus legend?" she reconfirms. I nod my head and she loosens her stiff posture. "Good. That makes things simpler to explain. So, a few hundred years ago, my sisters and I found that human men were versatile. You could have a roll in the hay with them and then have a nice snack afterwards. It was a convenient arrangement for us. It took a few dozen tries before we learned how to control ourselves around the men without feeding from them too soon. I can assure you that it's no fun if your dinner date dies before you've even gotten past third base.

"But over time my sisters and I felt guilty over what we were doing. Most of those men we had fed from had been decent people. We decided that killing humans was a tremendous waste of potential. We thought, 'Hey, wouldn't It be great if we spared the men's lives so we can sleep with them again another day if we'd like?' So we agreed to change our habits to facilitate that goal. Drinking human blood was banned within our circle. Hunting only animals became our way of life. Although, I do admit it was difficult keeping the humans completely unharmed in the beginning. Sometimes our superior strength would cause us to accidentally break their bones during certain - err - _exciting_ moments. It was a good thing for them that they were usually too blissed out post-coital to notice their pelvises were fractured - at least for a couple of minutes. That's when the screaming would start and chaos would ensue." Noticing my steadily whitening face, Tanya winces. "Oops! Sorry. Got a little too detailed there, didn't I?"

I blink back my horror and try to appear unaffected. "It's OK," I mutter hoarsely. "So - ahem! - it sounds like it took a lot of effort to learn how to control yourself around them."

"It _was_ hard. But it's been worth it. Humans have their pros and cons, too - just like any vampire I've been with. I wouldn't trade my time with them for the world."

"Really?" I reply, slightly incredulous.

Her eyes lighten up, obviously pleased to elaborate. "Oh, yes. Human men are often wonderful lovers. They're so happy I'm giving them the time of day that they will do just about anything to please me. And they're grateful, too. I feel like I'm Mother Teresa handing out bread amongst the poor whenever I invite one of them over for the night. Though, what I think I like best is how they feel to the touch. There's nothing like cuddling up with a soft, warm man for a few minutes before we go at it again," she confesses in a kitten purr. Nanoseconds later, the glint in her eyes dim. "The only downside is that they're fragile and collapse from exhaustion way too soon. What I wouldn't give to be with a human who could last for longer than a couple of hours."

The hint of sadness in her expression dissipates. "Being with a vampire is almost the polar opposite. An immortal has loads of stamina and will last for days and days on end. That's a wonderful advantage they have over humans. And talk about attractive. Vampire men are physically perfect. I almost have an orgasm just looking at their faces. But many of them are too obnoxious and vain to deal with for long. Are you aware of how many immortal men have hinted they were doing me some great, big favor in sleeping with me? As though I should drop down and worship the ground they walk on just because they agreed to have a one night stand? Talk about nerve!" she huffs.

"And then there's the diet problem," Tanya complains with a frown. "A majority of the male vampires my sisters and I have come across drink from humans, and they have no desire to ever stop. It's a big turn off. I can't commit to a man who might have just fed from one of my former human lovers. That's sick!"

My mouth puckers out as I ruminate her problem. "I'm sure there's at least a few nice vegetarians out there somewhere. The right one for you has to turn up sooner or later."

"Thanks for the encouragement, but I doubt it. As far as I know, only two covens are vegetarian - Carlisle's and mine. So unless there's a lonely nomad wandering around who has gained a conscience on his own, I'll just have to make do with my current lifestyle." Licking at her lips, she leans in confidentiality. "Speaking of which, will there be any bachelors at your wedding this evening?" she asks with a side smirk.

I smile a little and nod. I'm sure once the guests get a glimpse of Tanya and her sisters, a good portion of the single men will be clamoring for attention from the Denali women. "Yes. A few of our single friends will be there, a couple of deputies my dad works with, some teachers from the school, and most of the Quileute wolf pack, too."

Her smirk slides off her face. "The Quileute? Do you mean to say that _mongrel_ will be there?"

"Mongrel? Oh! You mean Jacob. Yeah, he'll be there. Unfortunately," I add in a grumble. The urge to punch Jake's gut after that stunt he pulled with Tanya the night before has not abated in the slightest. Just because he's a friend doesn't mean he can act like a jerk whenever he pleases.

Tanya's eyes narrow into slits. "So it's 'Jacob', eh? Hmph! I assumed his name would be something more in keeping with his unpleasant personality. Like, Prick. I swear, I've never been more insulted in all my existence!"

I snort laugh at the nickname she came up with. "Don't worry. He's under strict instructions to behave himself tonight. If he acts like that again, I'll kick him out."

"Thanks. And I'll try to ignore him for the sake of you and your special day." Her head cocks on its side. "So...are we OK now?" she questions with a touch of uncertainty.

My head moves slowly up and down. "Yes. I think we are."

She smiles widely, laying her ice cold palm on top of my hand. "Good. And I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me today. My sisters said it would be therapeutic, and they were right! I owe you one, Bella. If there's ever a favor you need or a question you might have, you be sure to call me. Like, I could give you some tips for the honeymoon. Did you know most men love it when the woman takes control for a while? See, what I like to do is find out what their kink is beforehand, pin them down to the mattress, and-"

"No, no, no! That's OK!" I butt in, holding up a hand to stop her talking. "Um, thanks for the offer, but I think Edward and I would rather discover things on our own as we go along."

Tanya freezes, appearing slightly taken aback. Her lips pucker out contemplatively. "Ah. I see. You want to take things slow, don't you? Well, I don't blame you there. Newlyweds should practice the easy stuff first before they do anything adventurous. And vanilla sex can be nice, too. It's very relaxing. I should probably do it more often." She rises from her footstool. "Well, I guess I'd better get going now. I'll be helping set up the decorations for the reception." She takes a couple of graceful steps towards the bedroom door.

"Tanya?" I call out.

Her entire body rotates around to face me once again. "Yes?"

"You said I could ask you a question anytime. Right?"

"Of course. Day or night."

"So, you wouldn't mind if I ask you one more thing before you go downstairs?" She nods her head encouragingly, the ends of her strawberry blonde curls bouncing. I moisten my lips before I speak. "Has anyone told you about where Edward and I are going for the honeymoon?" I know I shouldn't be taking advantage of Tanya's ignorance by asking her a question I'm not supposed to know the answer to yet, but I can't help it. It's Edward's fault for keeping me in the dark.

In less than a heartbeat, she's zips across the room and appears back on the footstool. "Yes! Esme told me all about it this morning. You're one very lucky girl! I can't think of a more fitting place to honeymoon. The people are absolutely wonderful there. One of the most darling men I've ever slept with came from a town not too far away from where you'll be staying. And the landscape! Simply charming! It's quiet and peaceful, yet it's also close by to some amazing nightlife. You just have to go to this place called-"

"Stop!" shouts a familiar, high-pitched voice. Our heads swing towards the opened bedroom door. Alice's eyebrows are skewed down at me. "Bel-la! What do you think you're doing?"

"Err...making polite conversation?" I cringe guiltily.

Alice tsks and shakes her head. "Sure," she drags out skeptically. "Tanya, the honeymoon is supposed to be a surprise. Don't tell her anything else." Zero point two nanoseconds later, she's grinning from ear to ear, promptly forgetting that she's upset with me. "Guess what, Bella? It's seaweed mask time! Let's go and brighten up that complexion!" She sings this distressing information like it's a treat to douse your face in sea plant slime. Or maybe this is her evil way of punishing me. Who knows.

"I suppose I should get out of your hair now," Tanya concludes. She gives my shoulder a consoling pat. "I'm sure Alice will make you look just lovely. I'll see you later tonight, Bella."

"Yeah. See ya later. _If_ I'm still alive by then," I mutter under my breath.

**00000000000000000000**

"Alice, dear? Don't you think Bella needs to eat?" Esme points out a few hours later, her honey brown eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Alice continues to coat my face in foundation. "She just ate a snack a little while ago, Esme. She's fine."

"Then why are her lips blue? She looks ready to faint."

Alice giggles, the sound like the tinkling of bells. "That's just the lip treatment I put on her mouth. It's supposed to give smoother, plumper, _healthier_ lips. It's well worth the hundred and fifty dollar price tag. But don't worry. Her lips won't stay blue forever. I'll be wiping it off in another minute."

I shoot her a dirty look. "Eye ips ahr num."

"What?" she blinks back at me, completely mystified.

Standing at a mirror nearby, Rosalie pauses in applying her makeup and works as an interpreter. "She said her lips are numb."

"Oh," Alice nods, seemingly unperturbed. She goes about dabbing more foundation underneath my nose. Suddenly, she halts all movement. Her eyes pop open. "Oh!" she shouts. Rushing to the bathroom at supersonic speed, she exits with a damp rag and removes the lip stuff from my mouth. Once it's all gone, she examines my face thoroughly for damages. "Well, other than a bit of redness of the mouth, you look good. How do you feel?"

I lick at my lips and move them around experimentally. No more numbness, thank goodness. But I'm still not too happy. "I feel like I've suffered enough today and earned the right to take a nap," I grumble. I've been stuck in this chair getting "pampered" for far too long.

"OK."

My body flinches in response. I'm not used to Alice giving in to my demands so easily. "Really?"

Alice smiles like the Cheshire Cat. "Yep. I'll be tweezing your eyebrows to remove a few more stray hairs. You can close your eyes for a little while if you want."

I send another dark glare her way. Gee, thanks, Alice. I'm sure I'll sleep right through something like that. Grrr...

Alice perks up straight and smiles. "Hey, Bella. The boys are almost back home." With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, she adds, "And it looks like your mom and Emmett are best friends now."

Edward, Emmett, and Jasper had to pick up Mom and Phil from their hotel today. But I never expected for Mom to strike up a friendship with any of them. "They are?"

"Um-hmm. She and Emmett have been swapping stories about _you_ apparently. Did you really fall off the Pirates Of The Caribbean ride at Disneyland and they had to shut it down for an hour?"

I groan into my hands. How is it possible my mom can fondly recall something that happened to me _one time _when I was seven years old, yet she consistently fails to remember that the utility bill is due by the tenth of every month?

While I'm wallowing in depression, a vision crosses Alice's sights. Her eyes stare off into the void. Slowly blinking, she comes back to life. "Ugh! Rosalie!" she whines.

"Hmm?" Rosalie answers while applying mascara to her long lashes.

"Your-your... _husband_ is seriously contemplating giving Bella a celebratory toast tonight during the reception," Alice stresses.

"Aww! How nice," Esme gushes with a motherly smile. "Emmett can be a such a sweetheart when he tries."

Alice tightens her mouth, amber eyes glowing murderously. "There's nothing sweet about what Emmett's planning. He's going to tell everyone that until Bella came along, he had always suspected Edward 'played for the other team'. His stupid joke will have half of the guests thinking Edward is marrying his beard!"

"Beard? What does that mean?" I wonder aloud, looking between three pale, concerned faces.

Rosalie tosses the mascara wand onto a table and heaves an annoyed sigh. "What it means is that I'll be castrating Emmett if he dares open his big, dumb mouth tonight. I can't believe that man is unable to remember the only rule I ever gave him - never prank or insult Edward while in public. That's for our private amusement only. I'll go remind him right now." Esme joins Rosalie to head downstairs.

I quickly glance up at Alice. "They're home?"

"Just walked through the front door," she confirms. Her pixie face pivots on its side, as though she's listening to something. "Jazz?" she calls quietly, yet still loud enough for a vampire to hear throughout the house. "Remind Edward if he steps within twenty feet of my bedroom door, I'll hog tie him up in his room until the ceremony starts."

"He was planning to do that?" I ask, disappointed that he can't sneak in here for at least a couple of minutes.

"Not that I know of. But it's always best to let him know what the consequences are _before_ he thinks to try any funny business. Now, hopefully, he'll stick to getting dressed instead of poking his nose where he shouldn't."

The next forty-five minutes go by in a flurry of activity. My hair is styled, my body is stuffed into a white dress, and then I'm forced to remain still so Alice can apply the finishing touches to my makeup. She's helping me shove my feet into a pair of fancy, flat-bottomed shoes when the door swings open.

"Oh, baby!" my mother gasps in my direction. Rushing across the bedroom, she squeezes me in a tight hug. In my ear, I hear her sniffling. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," I manage to say despite the fact my lungs are being crushed.

Her arms release their grasp, a few tears dripping from her blue eyes. "Isn't she beautiful, Charlie?"

Charlie stands by the opened door, appearing about as comfortable as I do with all this attention. He coughs into his closed fist. "She looks real... nice," he responds uncertainly. My dad has never been very good at coming up with compliments.

Mom overlooks his less than enthusiastic reply. "I've never seen Bella look so glamorous. And the wedding decor downstairs is like something out of a fairytale. Is it true that you did this all by yourself, Alice?"

"Oh, no. I can't take all the credit. Everyone pitched in to make this day a success," Alice confesses humbly.

"But Esme said you designed the dress, planned the decorations, booked everything from the caterer to the florist, _and_ helped Bella get ready today," Mom recites in awe. "You must be a very talented young woman to do so much in so little time."

Alice grins so wide that I'm worried it will get stuck that way. "Why, thank you! It's always nice to hear back from someone who actually appreciates my hard work." She glances at me meaningfully.

My own eyes roll to the ceiling. I "appreciated" Alice just fine up until she insisted waxing my leg and arm pit hair would be a good idea. The pain was much worse than I had anticipated. It felt like my skin was being peeled away from its flesh. Thank god I forbid her from going anywhere near my pubic area. I probably would have had to beg someone to put me out of my misery if I had let her.

Rosalie reenters the room. She's in a simple silver gown similar to the one Alice has on, but they both look like runway models from Mount Olympus. "Seven more minutes," she reminds us.

Mom smiles softly, misty-eyed. "It's almost time, baby. Are you ready to do this?"

I swallow and nod twice. "Yeah. I am."

Almost immediately, she bursts into heaving sobs. Water streams down her face. "I... can't... believe... you're...all...grown...up...now!" she wails, hiccuping between words. Charlie's eyes bulge from his head, flicking uncomfortably around the area as he searches for someone to comfort his ex-wife. Witnessing strong emotions always puts him on edge.

Esme appears like magic at Mom's side, wiping away the tears with a hand-full of tissues. "There, there. It will be all right," she consoles in a soothing voice. "Letting go of your young ones is hard, but it's for the best. It's time for them to spread their wings and discover for themselves what real independence is like. Our Edward and Bella will be _very_ happy together, and that's all that really matters. Isn't it?"

Mom swipes a stray tear away with her palm. "Yes," she sniffs.

Esme maneuvers Mom towards the door. "So let's get ourselves downstairs and find the best seats to watch the ceremony. Did you know Edward was in charge of selecting all the music you'll hear tonight? I can't wait until the reception for the-"

As soon as they're gone, Rosalie cocks up a sculpted brow. "Isn't it convenient Esme had that pep talk handy? Good thing Carlisle recited that same advice to her twenty times over the past two days."

Alice giggles into her hand as she rushes to finish getting me presentable. Charlie wisely watches from a safe spot in the corner of the room, probably fearful of being knocked down by the pale-skinned Munchkin as she runs all over the place.

"OK, so what do we have left to do?" Alice wonders to herself, tapping her chin. Her fingers snap as she remembers. "Ah! You need good luck!" She zips over to her gigantic walk-in closet and comes back with a couple of items clutched in her grasp. "So...your engagement ring is old. Your dress is new," she observes. Taking me by my wrist, she sprays a lightly scented perfume on my skin. "That's something borrowed. It's my favorite scent," she smiles. Then, opening her palm, she reveals the last item in her hand - a feminine, lacy garter. "And here's something blue! Isn't it cute? Rose, come over here and help me get this on her."

While Alice bends down on her knees and slips the garter up my leg, Rosalie holds my shoulders to keep me from falling. "I don't know why you bothered giving her a blue garter, Alice," Rosalie begins. Her voice drops low enough to where Charlie cannot hear. "Bella doesn't need it. I'm sure Edward has something blue for her. _Two_ things, actually." Her cherry red lips lift into a saucy smirk. It's not often you see her smile.

Alice flashes her a brief, disgusted look. "Wow, Rose. Very classy. You and Emmett really _were_ made for each other." With the garter in place, she shoots back up on her feet. Her eyes dart to the clock on the wall and sparkle excitedly. "Two and a half minutes and counting! Are you ready to play the _Wedding March_? Remember, don't start until precisely six o'clock!"

"Yes, Alice. I remember. You've only reminded me of this a trillion times," Rosalie deadpans before leaving the bedroom.

Alice hands me my white bouquet and tugs my arm, leading me to the opposite side of the room. I find myself in front of the full-length mirror I normally avoid. Alice is in its reflection, looking as gorgeous as always. The woman beside her I don't recognize at first. She wears a form-fitting, white gown that draws the eye. It's demure like an old-fashioned wedding dress in the front, yet the back exposes plenty of skin to make it undoubtedly modern. The woman's mahogany brown hair has been meticulously braided and wound into a complicated bun on top of her head. Big, doe-eyes stare back at me. It's hard to believe I'm the same woman I see in the mirror.

"So, what do you think?" Alice probes curiously.

I continue to stare flabbergasted at myself. "I think...you will use this against me for the rest of my life. Whenever I doubt your abilities in the future, you will describe in detail the miracle you performed today and have me instantly regretting my words."

She claps her hands happily like a toy monkey. "Yay! I _knew_ you'd love it! But you'll have to stop admiring yourself for now. It's almost time to go downstairs."

Charlie and I follow behind her as we walk out of the bedroom. As soon as we reach the staircase, she positions me on Charlie's arm and flicks some lint from his tuxedo. Taking a step back, she examines us. "Looking good," she mutters to herself. Her tone rises slightly. "Now, when Rosalie plays the piano, I'll wait five seconds before I begin walking down the stairs. I want you two to wait until the count of _ten_ before following me. And remember, keep your steps slow and in time with the music. Got it?" Charlie and I both silently agree.

Moments later, the_ Wedding March_ jars me into attention. Next comes the sound of numerous people rising from their seats, chair legs scraping against the marble floor. Alice winks and wishes me good luck in a whisper. She takes unhurried steps down the stairs, as cool as a cucumber. My heart decides it's time to start flapping in my chest like a chicken who just realized its head had gone missing. The seriousness of the situation has dawned upon me. Everyone expects me to gracefully walk down this grand staircase. And I can't even hold onto the handrail! I might stumble over my own two feet and end up rolling down the stairs like a bowling bowl in front of my family and friends. This isn't good. Not at all. I'm so clumsy, I even trip over things in my dreams. And stupid Alice just had to invite the Forks Gazette photographer to cover the event. Great. The whole town can yuk it up when they see a picture of me sprawled on the floor with my gown flung over my head, courtesy of the front page of the newspaper tomorrow.

At the count of ten, Charlie pulls me along towards the stairs. We're on the first step when I decide to be honest. "Dad?" I whisper, barely breathing.

"Hmm?" he grunts without stopping.

"I'm going to fall."

He turns just enough to see my anxious face. His rough features soften. "No. I won't let you," he reassures me. "Just hold on to my arm. I'll get you to him all right." I don't need to ask who "him" is.

I keep my eyes on my feet as we go, watching out for anything which could pose as a threat to my well-being. Once we reach the ground floor, I glance up. A sea of people stare back at me. My eyes drift from one familiar face to another. Seth towers over his mom Sue on the back row. Jasper wears a small smile while Emmett gives a thumbs up next to him. Ben and Angela watch hand-in-hand as I march down the aisle. Jessica hops up and down, desperately trying to see over Jacob's massive body. Mike stands beside her, his mouth hanging open and eyeing me strangely. And Phil has an arm slung around Mom's shoulders as she openly weeps. Poor Mom. She always cries at weddings. Even more so when it's my own, evidently.

Standing under an archway covered with ivory flowers, I spot the owner of my favorite face. I knew Edward would dress up this evening, but I don't think I was properly prepared for just how great he would look. His tuxedo is black with a white waistcoat, similar to what the male passengers of the Titanic would have worn a hundred years ago. A matching black bow tie is wrapped at his neck. My breath catches. It's perfect. _He's _perfect. I think Edward gets handsomer each time I see him. How is that even possible?

His mouth lifts at the corners, exposing a playful grin just for me. For the first time today, my heart flutters for a different reason besides nervousness. I give him a smile in return. Vaguely, I observe Carlisle standing at his side as his Best Man. Nearby is Angela's dad, the local pastor and the officiant to this evening's ceremony. But all I really notice is Edward and how slow this dumb_ Wedding March_ is. All this taking one tiny step and then pausing for a moment is wasting precious time. If Rosalie would only speed things up on that piano, I could run over to Edward and be with him that much sooner.

When Charlie and I finally reach the huge floral arch, I detach from his arm and float to Edward. I don't acknowledge Mr. Weber. I don't pay attention to the inspirational things he says. I don't even care when I hear him using my much-dispised name, Isabella. Because I'm too focused on Edward's face and eyes and grin to worry about what's going on around us. He seems so happy and content with life that I can't look away from his face. I don't want to miss anything. That would be a travesty. And he must feel it too since he won't glance away from me either.

Mr. Weber calls out my name again in a serious tone, temporarily yanking my head from out of the clouds. He instructs me to repeat what he says out loud. I do so in a half-trance, having made the mistake of resuming eye contact with Edward. I barely comprehend what I'm saying. Then it's _his_ turn to recite Mr. Weber's words. Before I know it, Edward's hand caresses my face, tilts my chin up, and presses his firm lips against mine.

Now _this_ I can handle.

Without another thought, I balance on the tips of my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. Warm hands find my backless gown, his fingers splaying across the exposed skin. Our mouths move in sync, tongues sliding and tangling around the other. I'm in Heaven, plain and simple.

My leg is itching to hook around his waist and reel him in closer when he abruptly pulls his mouth away from our kiss. All happiness comes to a screeching halt, although my hormones continue to buzz relentlessly. My face drops into a frustrated scowl. What's Edward's problem? Why did he stop? It was just getting good!

I'm about to snap at him for leaving me high and dry when the room explodes in applause. My eyelids flap open to see a hundred or so people clapping and laughing at us. Every inch of my skin glows like an ember. I was so invested in what we were doing, I forgot where we were. If Edward had allowed me to continue, there's no doubt that I would have peeled off his tuxedo and felt him up in front of an audience. The horror...

A strong arm encircles my waist from behind. His chest presses against my back. "Congratulations, Mrs. Masen," Edward croons into my ear. "We'll continue with _that_ later," he teases.

I tense up for a moment.

He called me _Mrs. Masen_.

I'm not Bella Swan anymore. From now until the day I die, I will be known as Bella Masen.

A smile perks up the corners of my lips. I rotate around and gaze up at him, watching the euphoria dancing in his eyes. Yes. Bella Masen. That sounds wonderful.

**00000000000000000000**

Outside beneath the cloudy night sky, the reception kicks off. Our guests watch as Edward and I slow dance under thousands of electric string lights. We sway back and forth in place, this being the only dance move I can handle without looking like a clown. Then I get passed around to my dad, Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper for a spin on the dance floor. Thank goodness those last three don't mind getting their toes stomped on. But to be fair, Charlie didn't complain either since he was stepping on mine just as often. After I've smashed Phil's feet thoroughly and the song ends, Edward rescues me from further dancing for now and leads us over to a table. He insists that I rest and brings me food from the buffet. There's even a huge chunk of brownie on my plate. I knew I fell in love with this man for a good reason.

Everyone does their own thing since this is an informal function. Some people stand around while picking at the food on their plates. Others huddle at tables to pig out. A few stick to the dance area and perform the Electric Slide. The yellow-eyed people carry plates around, feigning that they are much too busy chatting to bother with eating. Edward and I share a table with Jacob and Seth, who appear to be very appreciative of the wide variety of food available. I'm still on my first plate when I notice Seth returning with his third. Food is stacked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, wobbling and threatening to collapse as he walks. He plops back into his chair and starts scarfing meat down like - well - a hungry wolf. Which I guess he is, technically.

"This stuff is great!" he grins with a full mouth, barbeque sauce dribbling down his chin. Looks like this boy should invest in a bib.

I stare at him in a mixture of worry and disgust. "Do you always eat like that? How are you not choking?" I've seen sword swallowers with less in their mouths.

Seth sucks down a piece of beef faster than a Hoover vacuum cleaner before answering. "Aww, I have to eat like this. Being what I am, my metabolism needs the extra food. I have to eat as fast as I can to keep up."

Jake brays a laugh from my left. "He was eating like this _before_ he even changed. He uses it as an excuse now. I think it's because Sue has been starving him to death," he jokes. Sue is very health conscious and insists the boys of La Push eat sensibly instead of surviving off of fast food and fried pork rinds. Whenever they get a craving for something she disapproves, they sneak their Ranch Doritos or Hostess snack cake contraband into the reservation during the dead of night while she's asleep.

Seth gives a stony glare and throws a napkin at Jake's head, hitting him on the forehead. But instead of getting mad, Jake laughs harder. "Mom doesn't starve me. She's a great cook," Seth snaps back.

"Yeah, cold tofu that smells like feet and chia seed slime. It's _great,_" Jake emphasizes sarcastically.

Edward chuckles. "Death by chia seed. That sounds like a _horrible_ way to go."

Seth rolls his eyes with a small smile twitching at his lips. Refocusing his sights on his plate, he gives up defending his mother's cooking skills for now.

I'm nearly finished eating when it occurs to me that in another couple of hours, Edward and I will be on an airplane flying... somewhere. And I'm just as clueless concerning the details as ever. During a lull in conversation, I decide to bring it up.

"So... We're married now," I point out to Edward.

He aims a crooked grin at me. "We certainly are."

"And now that we're married, our honeymoon is soon to follow."

A fire stokes within his moss green eyes. He abandons his food and leans into my personal space, his familiar scent filling my nostrils. "It is. It's going to be _wonderful_," he emphasizes in a husky whisper.

My breathing picks up, dazzled by his close proximity and the obvious innuendo behind his words. I swallow hard and shiver in my seat. The urge to say to hell with the party and lure him to a more secluded area increases by the second. But I fight off the thought since it would never work out. Alice is watching us closely from thirty feet away. She has probably already seen my fantasy and made arrangements to staple our butts to our chairs if we try to sneak off before the reception is over. Spoilsport.

I nibble at my lip and suppress a groan. Meeting his gaze, I try to resume seriousness. "That's nice to know. But, may I ask just one thing?" He bows his head encouragingly. "Where are you taking me?"

An amused smirk appears. "I told you - you'll find out at the airport," he replies.

"But as a married partner, it's your duty to tell me everything _now_. Keeping secrets is not healthy for any marriage."

Chuckling softly, he takes a sip from his glass. "It's not a secret. It's a surprise. There's a big difference."

"It's the same thing to me," I mumble in retort, frowning.

Since I get nowhere with him on that matter, I direct my frustration elsewhere to take my mind off of mysterious honeymoon destinations. I become absorbed in watching what our guests are up to. Mom and Phil are dancing, her head resting on his shoulder. Charlie sits at a table nearby with Billy and Sue. And Esme encourages a tall, scrawny guy to take another trip to the buffet. I don't recognize him until I get a glimpse of his face. It's the gas station attendant I see whenever I need to fill up my truck's tank. All we've ever said to one another was "hey" and stuff like, "Wow, the weather isn't too bad today. It only rained for three hours." Why Alice asked him to come is beyond me. A few minutes later, Irina slides up to him and smiles coyly. The guy tugs at his collar and checks her out from head to toe. She edges closer, placing a hand on his chest as she laughs at something he said.

Oh. So that's why Alice invited him. I guess Irina just found a bedtime buddy for the night.

While I'm watching the mating ritual play out, Tanya struts up to our table. She's in a black dress that falls below her knees and has a small smile on her white marble face. "Congratulations you two. I wish you both the best of luck," she greets, her eyes switching from me to Edward.

His forehead lifts up in surprise but his tone remains steady. "Thank you. We appreciate it."

Tanya zones in on my face again. Her lips spread into a grin. A lively laugh bubbles from her throat. "I'll be standing in the front row when it's time for you to throw that bouquet. If you can, aim it my way. I could use some luck in that department."

"No problem. I'll be happy to," I smile.

A taunting snort interrupts the light-hearted moment. "She needs more than just dumb luck to get a guy. Maybe a paper bag over her head and a stun gun would help," Jake sneers, eyeing Tanya critically.

I twist my upper torso around to confront him. My gaze hardens to stone. "I told you to behave. You couldn't make it twelve seconds without insulting someone, could you?"

Tanya straightens up and joins me in glaring at Jake. "It's OK, Bella. A mangy _dog_ can only remember so much before it becomes a burden on his tiny brain. You can't expect anything more from _him_."

Anger boils in Jake's eyes. He inhales a sharp breath, preparing to verbally retaliate. Sensing whatever he plans to say won't be good, I slap my hand across his mouth and hold it there. "Please, _please_ don't do this tonight. People are starting to stare over here," I plead to them both. Mrs. Weber brought her twin boys to the reception. What if Jake and Tanya start shouting obscene words and they hear it? They'll be the only kids in second grade cursing on the playground.

"I have an idea," Seth pipes in. He's smiling around at us, like it's funny two people with super strength are preparing to fight during what's supposed to be a peaceful celebration. "I'm thinking that they should go ahead and let each other really have it. No holding back. Tell each other exactly what you think without fear of reprimand. But, no physical fighting or dirty tricks. Only words."

Edward gives Seth the side-eye. "Isn't that what they've already been doing?"

"Not really. I think they're holding back a little. They should move away from the reception a little bit, have some privacy, and get it over with." Seth stares at Edward, smirking.

Tanya places a hand on a hip. "So, what? You want us to just stand there and scream at one another? And you think that will _help_?" she asks, stressing her skepticism.

"Doesn't hurt to try," Seth shrugs.

Edward crosses his arms and taps his chin thoughtfully, his eyes wandering from Seth to our two troublemakers. "I think Seth has a point. You and Jacob can walk away from the lights and work this out in whatever way you need. But, I suggest in order to keep this from appearing suspicious, you make it seem as if you are only dancing together."

The doubt on Tanya's face turns into outrage. "What?" she cries.

Edward presses his lips together for a split second. "You heard me. Keep your hands where we can see them, just like if you were dancing. I don't want our guests to know that you're arguing. Besides, it will help keep you from doing anything foolish - like clawing at each other or tearing arms off."

Tanya doesn't respond right away, her facial expression morphing from scorn to uncertainty. I guess arguing with Jake sounds fine but the thought of physical contact is harder to swallow. Meanwhile, Jake's lip draws up to expose a white canine. Their glares meet and hold for several beats. It isn't long before Tanya comes to a decision.

"OK," she agrees. Her white chin lifts haughtily to the sky. "But I'm really going to tell him like it is. It will not be pretty. He will _beg_ for mercy before I'm done with him."

Jake presents her with a mocking smile. "Yeah. I'll be _begging_ you to shut up because your voice sounds like a cat that's being shoved into a bathtub. All howling and screeching."

I release a long sigh. "Save the insults. Just... go get this over with." I point to a darkened area of the backyard, well away from the guests yet still close enough where we can keep our eye on them. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. Hopefully, Seth can go over there and stop them before things get too ugly.

Tanya sashays off without bothering to wait for Jake. Jumping out of his chair like lightning, he stomps after her. I give an uneasy glance at Seth and Edward. They're both calm as can be. _Too_ calm in my opinion. I don't think this plan will work out as well as they think. It's risky performing a social experiment involving a hostile wolf and a pissed off vampire in front of a hundred innocent people.

Jake and Tanya arrive at the designated area of the yard. Despite the dim light, I can make out their movements and facial expressions fairly well. He puts a hand on her waist to simulate dancing, his face clouded by a dark frown. She places a hand on his shoulder and dances with him slowly. What's not slow are their mouths. They're flapping at a hundred miles an hour as they feud back and forth. Although they're too far away for me to know what's being said, you can see by their stiff postures that the atmosphere is tense. It's a good thing that none of the guests appear to have noticed what's going on behind the scenes.

Song after song plays, and they continue to squabble. At one point, they stop "dancing" and look to be on the brink of killing each other for real. Tanya assumes a defiant stance against her much taller sparring partner. Jake's nostrils flare, his chest heaving. I blink once. Then the inevitable happens.

They lunge at one another.

I gasp into my palm, expecting to see hair and flesh being ripped out during the brawl. Instead, all I see is Tanya wrapping herself around Jake's body while he tries to suck her face with his mouth.

What the...?

Seth chuckles and pops a meatball into his mouth. "Took him long enough. He spent half of last night and all day today complaining about 'that annoying blonde leech'. And whenever I told him he was talking about someone he supposedly hated an awful lot, he would shut up for about thirty seconds and bring her up again."

My eyes dart back to the two supernatural enemies now playing tonsil hockey. Tanya has mounted herself around his waist and Jake's groping her butt like he's checking cantaloupes for their freshness. Eew. It's both gross and engrossing to watch.

"But they were just fighting. I thought that they couldn't stand each other," I comment, my nose wrinkling slightly.

Edward winks playfully, a smile creeping upon his face. "Some people find that fighting is fun. It excites them. Especially creatures like them. His cockiness mixed with her bold confidence makes for an interesting combination. I'm assuming that she's attracted to a human that doesn't break easily, and he's intrigued with the only being that swaggers more than he does."

I take a moment to think what he said through. Sentient beings who seem to like arguing? That sounds familiar.

"Ah. So, basically, they're like Mike and Jessica," I conclude.

Our eyes land simultaneously on the couple in question. It's been a couple of weeks since they last bickered over something small and temporarily broken up. The problem normally stems from something like Mike forgetting their fifteenth month anniversary, or Jessica hating a shirt he refuses to part with. Another break up is long overdue.

Edward frowns, his shoulders slumping. "Yes, just like them," he breathes out wearily. I believe part of the reason why he doesn't mind moving across the country is because he will no longer be forced to play nice with them all the time. I have to admit that taking a vacation from their drama does sound nice.

An hour later, we've done all the obligatory things you do at a reception. The wedding cake has been handed out, the bouquet was tossed, and the garter slung into the crowd. Now it's time for our exit. Alice marches me back to her bedroom to change into something more comfortable than a wedding dress. My hair is pulled down from the intricate bun, and I slip into a stylish blue suit and skirt.

Leaving the bedroom, I find someone waiting in the corridor. Mom swoops in from the sidelines to give a hug before I walk down the stairs. "I love you, baby."

I smile softly. "I love you, too."

She lets go and steps back, continuing to hold one of my shoulders. "I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful wedding. And now you're set to go off on a fabulous honeymoon! It's so exciting! You be sure to call me as soon as you can. I want details of this trip! It's going to be just _perfect_ for you!"

I stare at her, not holding back my surprise. "You know where the honeymoon is?"

She laughs. "No. But Esme promised to tell me just as soon as you're gone. I just _love_ surprises," she ends on a sigh. Moments later, a strange expression flashes across her face. Opening her purse, she rummages through its contents. "Now let me see... Where did I put them? Hmm... I could have sworn- Oh! _Here_ they are!" She grabs my hand, depositing something into my palm. "I forgot to give these to you earlier, sweetie. I was looking for a Tic Tac in my purse after I ate that garlic-crusted chicken, and that's when I saw them again and finally remembered."

I peek at what she handed me and cringe. It's three tiny, foil-wrapped packages. I try to drop them back into her purse before anyone else sees, but she keeps moving around. "_Mom_," I moan, my face in flames. "Thanks for the concern. _But I do not need these_."

"Of course you do! You don't want to get pregnant, do you?" she asks rhetorically, much too loud for my liking. She digs up a fourth condom to add to the pile in my hand. "I made sure to buy a variety. There's plain, and ribbed, and two fruit flavors. Although, I only bought the largest size they had. I figured since Edward's so tall, he's probably a big boy."

Alice snickers behind me. I flash her a cold glare. If she knew about this surprise beforehand, I'm going to introduce some pregnant moths into her closet. A little warning would have been nice.

I successfully toss the condoms back into Mom's purse and avoid eye contact. "I said I don't need them, Mom. I'm..._in_ _control_," I hint pointedly. I don't want to announce I'm on birth control while more than a dozen people who possess supernatural hearing are nearby.

She seems puzzled for a handful of seconds. Then her eyes brighten. "Oh," she draws out knowingly. "It's the pill, huh? That's a great strategy. The pill you take once a day. With condoms you might run out of them quickly if you have sex a lot. You're so much more responsible and prepared than I was when I was your age. Now you can do it all day and night without worry!"

I hear a booming guffaw from downstairs. There's no doubt somebody heard that. Thanks, Mom.

Finally coming to my rescue, Alice reminds us that it's time to go if Edward and I want to make it to the airport on time. As we walk downstairs, I see that our guests have congregated into the foyer to see us off. Edward awaits at the bottom of the staircase, now dressed in khakis and a black sports coat. Family and friends take turns in hugging us goodbye. I feel warm human bodies embrace me, cold immortals, and the boiling heat of shape-shifters. I take note right away that Jake and Tanya are absent. It isn't hard to guess what they're up to at the moment. After the crowd backs off, Edward takes my hand and we walk towards the front door. My legs lock in place before we make it halfway there. I hugged a lot of people just now, but there's one person who never told me goodbye.

I let go of Edward's hand and ask him to wait a minute. Searching the downstairs area, I find who I'm looking for near a landscape painting in the living room. He's staring at it, his back turned towards me.

"Dad?" I call out.

He rotates around slowly, reluctantly meeting my face. I'm struck dumb by what I see. That brown mustache of his hangs limp. His eyes are wet. Charles Swan has been _crying_.

I walk straight over and gather him into a hug. He rocks us back and forth for a few beats. "I'm sorry, Bells. I'm just..." He trails off his words and doesn't finish.

A tear leaks from my eye. When I moved back to Forks last year, I never expected to grow attached to this place. I love Mom and the years I had with her, but living with my dad was life changing. I'm going to miss it. "I know. Me, too."

He pulls back to see my face better. "You be careful."

"I will." I dry my cheek with the pad of my finger. My face tilts a several degrees, holding a warning glance as a disturbing thought occurs to me. "And _you_ don't go to the diner every night. Try eating something besides a Triple Bypass Burger every now and then."

His mustache shimmies as he holds back a smile. "All right. I promise. I'll only go once a week... Or maybe twice."

My frown shifts into a soft laugh. We give one more hug before we part ways. "Don't be a stranger. Call me sometimes," he says. I nod my head while backing away. I'll be calling him a lot more than just "sometimes". He'll see.

I rejoin Edward at the front door. Alice rushes in like a whirlwind and gets in another hug from us both before we take off. It's going to be difficult living so far away from her, too. But I have a feeling now that she's no longer "in high school", she and the other Cullens will be traveling to Ithaca often to visit.

With one last hand wave, Edward and I step out on the porch. Our feet turn to lead. We gape at the sight before us. His Volvo has been wrapped completely in toilet paper, from the roof down to the tires. There's not a square inch of metal or windshield to be seen. It looks like the car is ready to be added to some pharaoh's tomb in Egypt.

Edward turns on his heel. His annoyed glare lands instantly on the big guy doubled over nearby.

"What's wrong, Edward?" Emmett jokes between fits of laughter. "I thought you'd want to have a comfortable ride. It's 3 ply!"

**00000000000000000000**

At Sea-Tac, we rush down the terminal and pass through security. Edward holds our onboard luggage with a firm grip and refuses my help. He does, however, agree to give me our tickets.

Like a kid at Christmas, I excitedly read the destination. I blink a few times in a row. This place never even crossed my mind. "London?"

"That's where we're landing, but it's not where we're staying," he replies as we walk.

"Then where are we staying?" I press.

He avoids answering until we're seated in First Class - me at the window, him on the aisle. "Hampshire."

"Hampshire?" I say, wrinkling my forehead. All I can conjure up at first is maple syrup and fancy ski resorts. Then I recall that's _New_ Hampshire. Wrong location.

My thoughts move away from the USA and travel to another place and time. I picture fancy dress balls, horse and buggies, and a woman bent over her desk with a quill pen perched between her fingers.

"That's where Jane Austen lived," I gasp, my eyes widening at Edward.

He grins cockily. "I know. That's why I chose it. I figured since you will be studying English Lit for the next four years, that you may find it helpful to familiarize yourself with the country. We're starting in Hampshire, but we can go wherever you want. We can see Derbyshire where Mr. Darcy lived, or the moors of Yorkshire. Maybe even Stratford-upon-Avon, if you like."

I smile like a fool. A month. In the United Kingdom. No wonder he was so confident that I'd love where we're going. It was really thoughtful of him.

Then, he adds one final piece of information. "Or, we can just stay at the house in Hampshire and explore around there. Whatever you want."

The smile on my face vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. I look at him sideways, my suspicions mounting. "What house?"

"The house I bought." He says it casually, just like if he had admitted to buying socks on sale at Target.

I see red. If we weren't stuck on a plane in front of lots and lots of witnesses, I'd be screaming at him. Yeah, I know we can afford it, but that's not the point. We haven't even made it to college yet, and already we have to pay taxes on _two_ different houses? Neither of which we have seen with our own eyes? That's nuts!

"You bought _another_ house! You just bought the one in Ithaca. Why did you get another one? Are you starting a _collection_ now?" I snap.

He chuckles and scratches at the corner of his jaw. "No. I bought it because Carlisle said that it would be a good investment. It's a nineteenth century thatched roof cottage. Based on the pictures I've seen, it's lovely and quaint. It's surrounded by countryside yet its only a few minutes away from a village. And it's just two hours away from London. It's a perfect vacation house for us."

"But-"

His lips land on mine and linger. They taste like wedding cake and seduction. He's using his hypnotizing skills and sex appeal to try to shut me up. Smart move.

He backs away a few inches and gazes at me with big eyes. "No 'buts' until you see the place, love. Just try and think of it as an advanced study course in English life."

I huff a sigh and twist my mouth to the side. Using my college major against me chips away slightly at my irritation. "Fine. I won't say another word against it until I see the place," I agree. Silently, I add, _and after I see this house we don't need, THEN I'll scream at you. _ Because that's what a good marriage is built on - compromise.

Flying on an airplane to a faraway destination in the middle of the night has its downsides. Sleep doesn't come easy. Since you are sharing the same space with hundreds of other people, you hear snoring, whimpering babies, and people bugging the flight attendants every so often. Another thing which doesn't help is that when you fly east, the sun appears much sooner than you'd want. My body says it's three o'clock in the morning, but the sky outside the plane's window says it's daytime.

Ten hours of flying plus roughly two hours of Edward driving a rental car later, we pull into a driveway in a rural part of Hampshire, England. Through my jet-lagged eyes, I examine the area around us. A wide, green field is to our left. To our right is a small patch of woods. And in front of us is a house. Or "_cottage"_ as Edward described it earlier. It's two floors of charm but compact in size. A lush green lawn stretches from the curvy country road to the cottage's front door steps. Leafy vines cover and climb the brick exterior. Wooden boxes filled with flowers decorate the window sills. The brown, thatched roof seems to hug the house, creating curved overhangs above the windows. And a stone chimney pokes out from the top.

I try to keep my mouth from gaping open like a fish, though I admit it's hard to maintain control. Because Edward somehow bought my dream home without me ever considering what I would want it to look like. Did he drive us directly into the pages of a fictional nineteenth century romance novel? If he did, I bet Elizabeth Bennett is our next door neighbor.

"So, what do you think?"

My eyes dart away from the cottage and land on Edward. He's watching me from the driver's seat, waiting for an answer.

I chew on my lip and debate what to do. Sure, I love the house. I can picture us coming here to relax whenever we have the spare time. But if he knows that he did a good thing, then he'll think buying me houses is equivalent to other men buying their wives bouquets of flowers. He'll believe it's normal. By the end of the year, he'll have bought a dozen more around the world as Christmas gifts for me. It would be insane. And expensive.

"It's..." I trail my words off, unsure of how to handle this.

He continues studying my face. "It's what?"

A brilliant idea occurs to me. Letting him know that I love the place would only encourage him. If I give only a lukewarm response towards the house, maybe he will think twice before buying something so extravagant in the future.

I stare ahead, avoiding his intensive gaze. "It's nice," I monotone, shrugging one shoulder unenthusiastically.

"Only nice?" There is a brief pause from his side of the rental car. "I suppose I'll put it back on the market once we can find a place more to your liking then. I saw a fairly decent Gregorian mansion that was a steal - only fifteen million."

Fifteen million!

My head whips around in a panic. I catch him smiling mischievously. Ha, ha. I see what he's doing. He saw right through my ruse and decided to pull my chain. And apparently, he thinks it's hilarious. If it hadn't been me he teased, I'd probably agree.

I roll my eyes at him. "OK, it's more than just '_nice_'. It's perfect," I admit within a grumble.

Smiling wider, he leans across the car's center dash and kisses my forehead. "I knew you'd like it. Let's check out what it looks like on the inside."

He carries our suitcases to the front steps of the house and sets them down. After digging through a pocket, he extracts a set of keys and flips through several before stopping on one. The unlocked white door creaks open halfway. I squint into the room ahead, but it's too difficult to see anything from this vantage point.

I take a step closer to enter the house. Out of nowhere, an arm blocks my way before I've moved a foot. My face turns and meets Edward's sparkling eyes. "What do you think you're doing? That's _my_ job, Mrs. Masen."

On the verge of asking about this "Mrs. Masen" fetish he seems to have developed within the last twenty-four hours, he ducks down suddenly. My legs sweep out from underneath me and I fall into his arms. I gasp out loud, my heart pumping in my ribcage. It takes a moment for me to regather my wits. He wants to carry me over the threshold, bridal style. I should have anticipated he'd want to experience every marriage milestone.

I try to gulp down the surprise and go ahead with my question. "You've called me that at every opportunity. At the airline counter. In front of the flight attendants. How long are you planning on keeping it up?" I ask, my voice lacking its usual bite.

His lips purse while he squints musingly. "Probably until the novelty wears off. So - to answer your question - _forever_."

He shoves the door open with his foot and carries me inside, but I don't pay too much notice of that. I blink up at him without saying a word, too stunned to respond. The position I'm in feels intimate in a way I can't adequately describe. I'm captivated by the arms which hold me as though I weigh nothing. And I'm unequivocally dazzled by the masculine face hovering a few inches above me. A lot of previously overlooked information hits me as well. For the first time in our lives, Edward and I are truly alone. We're almost five thousand miles away from everyone we know. There's no Charlie who might walk in on us and order Edward home. There's no vampires that could be listening in and making teasing remarks about us messing around. We finally have privacy. If I wanted to and Edward didn't mind, I could strip him down right now, straddle him to the living room floor, and no one could say a word against it.

I think that's the most satisfying epiphany I've ever had.

Carefully, Edward lowers me until my feet touch the floor. My eyes, however, remain pinned to his face. He notices and stares back for a couple of seconds. Then, with a cough, he glances towards the door. "I-uh...need to bring in the luggage and lock up for the night." Gradually, he meets my gaze again. Vibrant eyes grow piercing, as though he can see all my thoughts and fantasies. "Wait for me?" he asks in a gravelly timbre.

The sound of his voice triggers my face to redden. I fight it off and force myself to look at the wood floor instead of his hypnotic green orbs. Speaking would be impossible without stammering like a fool, so I limit my answer to a silent nod.

Within seconds, his footsteps lead out the front door. I raise my face once he's gone and give the room a quick scan. The walls are white. Cheery curtains brighten the dark, wooden framed windows. The furniture is new, comfortable, and obviously expensive. I see Esme's interior design work behind this.

I turn in place until I find the large, gray stone fireplace. A few knickknacks and a small statue decorate the mantle. Hanging on the wall above it is a medium sized oil painting. It looks old and valuable, done in an Impressionistic style. The two young lovers in the painting, a man and a woman, sit on a bed and are locked in an embrace. The man wears an old-fashioned white shirt and black trousers. The woman wears nothing at all.

Blood drains away from my face. Butterflies flap around in my stomach. During all my happy fantasies today of stripping Edward bare, I neglected to consider _both_ spouses generally want to see their significant other naked at some point. I'm not sure I can do it. I admit my relationship with clothes is rocky, but I do appreciate their ability to hide your body. I don't even feel comfortable seeing myself naked, let alone allowing someone else to check out the goods. So what am I supposed to do now that I'm married? This is our _honeymoon _for crying out loud. Won't Edward assume at some point that I will disrobe for him? Of course he will! What should I do? How do you go about doing it? Do I perform a strip tease?

Nope. I'm not coordinated enough to do that without bruising myself. Nor do I have the confidence to pull it off.

Or, will Edward expect to undress me himself? He does come from a different era. He might have expectations about tonight that I'm not familiar with. Back then maybe the man was supposed to do everything while the woman just lay there on the bed like a useless doll, doing absolutely nothing. Maybe the woman wasn't even allowed to enjoy it. And when the man was done with the baby-making business, all she could do was congratulate him for performing his husbandly duties or whatever, and then roll over and go to sleep. That doesn't sound like any fun. No wonder people in old photographs looked depressed...

"The bathrooms are upstairs."

The butterflies flapping in my stomach turn into something bigger and more rambunctious - like prehistoric pterodactyls. My attention darts away from the fireplace, slightly wide-eyed due to being jerked away from my innermost thoughts. I discover Edward waiting several feet away, his arms weighed down with our suitcases. "You can take the one in the master bedroom. I'll use the guest's," he ends.

I quietly acknowledge his offer, too embarrassed to look at him directly. He trudges up the stairs with me at his heels. At the top of the staircase, he transfers a bag to his other arm and flips a light switch. The formally dark hallway is now bright enough for me to see that there are only three doors up here on the second floor. Edward opens the very first one he comes upon. I follow him but hover a moment at the entrance. The large bedroom looks like a fancy hotel suite. It's all done up in tasteful color schemes and elegant furniture. Two windows look out into the backyard while the surrounding countryside stretches far into the horizon. A walk-in closet is situated on one side of the room. A closed door is at the other. And in the middle rests a bed. A very blue, very luxurious, very _large_ bed. A family of four could fit in the thing. Edward and I don't need _that_ much space to sleep comfortably. What was Esme thinking when she ordered it? That we'd be at risk of falling off the bed during-

The thought gets cut-off midway. An image of that painting from downstairs enters my brain - except Edward and I have replaced the lovers in the portrait this time.

My cheeks erupt into an inferno.

At the sound of footsteps, I tear my eyes away from the bed. Edward walks to the closed door in the room and turns the knob. A clean, white tiled bathroom is exposed. He heads back towards me and stops three or so feet away. With hands slipped into his pockets, he casts a faltering smile. "There you go. It's ready. I'll be - umm - right down the hall if you need me. But it shouldn't take me long."

Instead of his words soothing me, they only serve to rattle my nerves more. I nod my head up and down to let him know I heard him, but all I really want to do is escape for a while. I fly to our now opened suitcases and find one of mine. The entire time I search for the things I need to brush my teeth and take a shower, I feel Edward's gaze on me. My fingers shake as I fumble around in my suitcase. As soon as I touch my toiletry bag, I zoom over to the bathroom and almost slam the door behind me.

I heave out a breath as my back falls against the closed door. I can't believe this is happening. Sure, I've heard about cold feet on your wedding day. But _honeymoon_ jitters? Isn't this night supposed to be the fun part of marriage? And here I am hiding out in a bathroom. This is ridiculous. But at least I'm trapped in a place with hot running water.

Tossing the toiletry bag on the large sink/vanity combo, I unzip out of my skirt and shrug off the fancy blouse. The shower feels glorious after being on a transatlantic flight for ten hours. The water's heat soaks through my tense, tired muscles. My fingers scrub my scalp as I take comfort in the scent of my favorite shampoo. By force of habit, I grab my razor to shave my legs. Then I recall there's no hair to shave off. Alice waxed my armpits and legs clean of stubble. The only hair left on my entire body is my eyebrows, the hair on my head, and my-

Stopping myself from completing the sentence, I groan internally.

My face points down to my naked body - something I normally avoid if I can help it. I reluctantly study the landscape. Pointy hip bones. Wet, white legs that don't see the sun very often. And curly brown hair in my bikini zone. It's the latter that worries me the most. I'm unsure of what to do about it. Usually I just do a little maintenance around the area and that's it. But what if that isn't enough anymore? Maybe Edward finds hair there unflattering on a woman and that's why Alice was hinting that I should wax it all off yesterday. I rejected her offer because I believed it would A) hurt like hell, and B) be super embarrassing having my friend yank out pubic hair while Carlisle and Eleazar were close enough to hear my screams of torment. Now I'm beginning to think a little humiliation then would have been a lot better than what I'm feeling now - which is unbridled panic and a whole butt-load of uncertainty.

After staring at my crotch for way too long, I decide to go with my normal routine. I shave the area as if I were going to wear a swimsuit and leave it at that. If Edward has a problem with it, I'll just be mortified forever and spend the remainder of my life hiding my body from him. No biggie.

Hopping out of the shower, I give my skin a quick rub down with a towel. Next I dry off my hair until it stops dripping water and hang the towel back on the rack. Time to get dressed. Except...I didn't bring anything to dress myself with. All I have is the stuff in my toiletry bag and the wrinkled, dirty clothes I had on when I came in here. I was in such a tizzy to escape Edward's watchful eye, I forgot to bring my pajamas with me. Good thinking, Bella.

Snatching the white towel back, I wrap it around me and throw open the bathroom door. I take two steps into the bedroom and freeze in my tracks.

Edward's here.

His shoulder leans against the window frame while he stares bare-chested out at the rapidly setting sun, apparently unaware of my presence. Arms are crossed with muscles bulging, accentuating his tall, lean frame. My eyes drift downwards. His khakis are gone, too. Now he wears loose pajama pants which hang tantalizingly low on the hips. The orange, red, and gold evening's light mingles with the dark colors of the approaching night, the shadows of which reflect across his shirtless torso. Damp, bronze hair glistens from the colorful sunset.

I suck in a rush of air.

He looks like Apollo, god of the sun.

I gawk at him in a stupor. Seconds later, his head whips around without warning. Emerald eyes catch me red-handed. Straightaway, I'm very conscious of the fact that all I have on is a small, thin towel. My tongue glides nervously along my bottom lip. I take a quick peek at my suitcase across the bedroom. "I forgot to get something clean to wear," I explain, my voice no louder than a mouse.

Edward observes me for a few moments more. Then his arms unfold from his chest and extend wide open. "Come here."

I swallow hard and press forward. Running back to the bathroom is out of the question now. It would hurt his feelings. I just have to suck it up and pretend I am fine and not totally freaking out on the inside. Both hands grip tighter on the towel around me so it won't slip off unexpectedly. I don't want to take him by surprise and flash him by accident - because then it might be his turn to run to the bathroom to hide.

I walk slowly into his embrace. Long arms wrap around my upper back and welcome me in. The side of my face comes to rest on his chest. My ear is directly above his beating heart, each distinct thump like the ticking of a clock. I shut my eyes and breathe in the spicy scent of the soap he used during his shower. At the same time, his fingers ghost down the side of my neck until they entangle with my hair. Taking his time, he winds a few stands around an index finger. We've held each other this way hundreds of times. But the moment remains heavy with expectation, choking me with worry.

"Are you tired?" he asks out of the blue.

My mind is spinning at a thousand revolutions a minute. I couldn't sleep right now if I tried. "No," I answer softly.

He places a kiss on the crown of my head. It's small, but the message it sends travels throughout my body. He's ready. He wants me. Now.

"I love you," he says, still playing with my hair.

I can barely speak through my dry, raspy throat. "I love you, too."

Gentle fingers tilt my chin up. Edward looks me dead in the eyes, not allowing me to glance away. His eyebrows glue together as his gaze sweeps over my face. Within moments, the confused look around his eyes softens.

"We don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want to, Bella. I won't push for _anything_," he emphasizes, peering back seriously.

My eyes clamp shut. I steadily exhale a relieved breath. The fear and worry which has been gripping me loosens its hold, too. He doesn't expect the world from me all at once. He's willing to take our time before doing anything, and that's comforting to know. But, really, I should have already known he would be understanding. My overactive imagination and heightened nerves guided me instead of my head or heart. I overanalyzed everything. And because of that mistake, Edward feels obligated to forgo the normal activities of a honeymoon just to keep me happy. And he won't complain about it or feel robbed of a good time either. That isn't his way. He's usually too concerned about my welfare to think about himself. He'll climb into our bed, kiss my cheek, and wish me a goodnight. That isn't a honeymoon. That's a sleepover.

There really shouldn't be a problem here. I love this man. I've literally waited a year for this. Just because we planned the time and place when we would make love instead of doing it during the heat of a passionate moment shouldn't make any difference. Tonight isn't about only sex anyway. This is about being willing to experience everything with him - the fun and the awkward, the good _and_ the bad. And if having everything means I have to open myself up to the unknown for once, so be it. I trust him. And that's all that counts in the end.

I reclaim eye contact, letting my love for him shine through. "I know. But I want this, Edward. I want _you_."

One of my hands releases its hold from the towel wrapped around me. I need to touch him. My fingers find his bare back and trace along the spine, the skin there still hot from his shower. Without looking away, he steps in closer and cups my face with one hand. A thumb brushes across my cheek. Warm, minty breaths fan across my face as he leans in. Lips press against each of my closed eyelids and wander aimlessly until they reach my mouth. The lazy pecks gradually turn deeper. The tip of his tongue sweeps quickly over my top lip. A sound vibrates in my throat involuntarily from the sensation. When his tongue does it again to my bottom lip, I'm ready for it. My mouth opens and brings him inside.

There's an urgency behind our kisses as time progresses, the heat we create driving us on. The only problem is we can't seem to get close enough. It's partly my fault why we can't. The hand clutching my towel remains between us, acting as a blockade and keeping our contact minimal. His fingers knead the area above my ribcage through the thin towel. It feels so very good, but I'd be lying if I claimed I didn't want more. I want his fingers directly on my skin and traveling where they have never gone before. And I'm craving the ability to touch him with _both_ of my hands. I want my fingers digging into the nape of his neck while my other set teases the firm plane of his abs. However, we can't do any of that if there's a towel in the way.

So, I let go.

The towel drops to my ankles and out of my mind. I move in closer, wrapping both arms behind Edward's neck. He draws in a sudden intake of air the moment my bare breasts press into his warm skin. Having his body on mine without a barrier in place is like a shot of adrenaline. Every movement and touch is intensified. His hands begin a slow exploration over my curves, evidently prepared to examine every inch. I bury my face into his neck and hold on to keep my wobbly knees from collapsing underneath me. His fingers graze my skin, from my shoulders down. The side of a breasts, my ribs, my waist and an outer thigh all erupt in goosebumps. It's slow, agonizing torture. And incredible. I want to feel his hands everywhere, and all at once. But I want to do the same for him, too.

Breaking the kiss, our eyes reconnect. The sun is long gone but the bathroom light gives enough to see him clearly. I push away the last remnants of shyness and slide my arms from his neck. My hand journeys down his chest and to his abdomen, making memorable pit stops to visit places like his pecs and navel. I reach his narrow hips and follow the waistband slung around them until I find the front of his pajama pants. A drawstring is all that holds them up. I twist and wind the string around my fingers. Pausing my movements, I gaze back into his eyes and seek permission. They're half-hooded, reflecting back a burning hunger that makes my heart skip a beat. Taking that as silent encouragement, my hand tugs at the drawstring until it unties. The pants sag a couple of inches on their own. I help by sliding the fabric the rest of the way off his hips. And then, for the first time, I glance down.

My eyelids blink open as far as they will go.

OK. So, he's excited. That's understandable under the circumstances, I guess. But how is something like _that_ supposed to fit inside me? I never considered the logistics before. I thought it would be around the length of a man's ring finger or something. But good god that's... that's..._much_ bigger than a finger.

I take in a calming breath and try to loosen up. Stop it, Bella. You can't go overreacting again. Everyone says it will hurt regardless of size the first time. I can handle a little pain. And being with the one I love will make the experience better, right? Yeah. It will be fine. And if not, well... I'm sure there's at least one doctor in England who can stitch me back up good as new.

I reopen my eyes and grow curious. What does he feel like? In the past whenever my hand dropped down there, he would ask me to stop before we did something we would both regret. I'm happy to note he's not trying to stop me this time.

Biting my lip, I take a finger and move up and down his hardened manhood. I'm somewhat surprised by what I find. It's warm and smooth, like silk wrapped around glass. It's nice really. After a few passes, I peek through my lashes and observe the state he's in. Lungs heaving. Eyes dilated. Mouth panting. That's usually what happens to me after we've been necking a few minutes. I'm proud to discover I can do the same to him, too.

"Bella," he exhales.

"Hmm?" I ask with seeming innocence.

I wait for him to respond but he doesn't appear able to say anything else. Triumphant, I find the courage to up the ante. I take him entirely in my hand. He inhales sharply through his nose. I experiment in my movements, watching his face all the while. I assume he's enjoying it at first. His eyes flutter shut and his head flops back. Though, when I try to increase my pace, his jaw clenches hard. Darkened eyes emerge. He pulls my hand away from himself and won't let me resume what I was doing. I go to question why he stopped me, but his lips land on mine first. He devours me senseless and swallows my words. I get lost in the kiss and immediately forget what I was going to ask in the first place.

Grasping me by the waist, he lifts my feet off the floor. His mouth expertly sucks and licks at the base of my throat, causing my eyes to roll into the back of my head. I don't bother wondering where he's taking me. It feels too good to worry. My back lands on something bouncy and soft. I laugh and watch his grinning face as he slips in beside me on the bed. We smile at one another for several beats, his expression gradually turning into a heart-thumping smolder. He props his head up on a hand, raising his view well above mine. Meadow green eyes stray away from my face and travel southward, roaming _everywhere_. Instantly, my body stiffens with renewed awareness. I'm naked and uncovered. Everything's practically on display.

After a short time that feels uncannily like a few hours, he reaches for a lock of hair stuck to the side of my face. He removes it carefully, placing it on the pillow underneath my head. A fire flashes within his eyes.

"You're beautiful," Edward whispers.

Barely breathing, I watch him lean towards me. He presses his lips an inch below my jaw, placing more upon my throat and collarbone as he wanders down my body. His mouth ghosts over my skin until he reaches the valley between my breasts. I gasp out when his hand appears on my right one. Long fingers stroke and knead my flesh. Almost simultaneously, his heated mouth grazes across my left. A warm, wet tongue swirls around my nipple. A shiver passes through me. I never expected this to be so amazing. Sure, he's palmed me before, but that was with my shirt and bra on. We were obviously missing out on a whole lot.

Edward stops after a while and moves over me longways, balancing above my body on his forearms. I slide a hand into his hair and rub his scalp affectionately, causing him to purr in his chest like a lion. He thanks me by nipping at a breast, his teeth dragging across the skin. I can't stop the yelp from coming out of my throat. Chuckling a moment, he lifts his chest away from mine. He sits up between my parted thighs while a hand rests upon my knee. His eyes are busy surveying me again. I don't take the attention as hard this time since I'm getting an eye full of him, too.

"May I touch you?" he questions.

My forehead crumples confusedly. "Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Yes. But - um - I'd like to touch you somewhere else as well." His eyes briefly dart down between my legs.

My back goes rigid again. "Oh," I gulp.

"You see, it supposedly helps the woman become accustomed to how things will be later. Sometimes it even diminishes the pain."

My head shoots up off the pillow. Edward comes from a time when the word _pregnant_ was deemed too vulgar to use in polite society. So where is he getting _this_ information from? Has he been reading Cosmo magazine? Or sex help manuals? _Please_ tell me he didn't check them out from the Forks Public Library. I don't want my dad overhearing gossip that his new son-in-law has been studying the Kama Sutra.

"How do you know that?" I wonder, eyeballing Edward pointedly.

His head tilts down in my direction, deepening his gaze. "Have you forgotten who I lived with for the past two years? _Three_ mated couples, Bella. You hear things sometimes - most of which you'd rather not have heard in the first place." Releasing a heavy sigh, his fingers pass through his hair. "So?" he drawls out.

A long pause comes between us. "O-oK," I stammer.

The hand perched on my knee moves up my leg. My own hands ball up into fists. Once he reaches my inner thigh, his fingers circle the skin there. I sense him meandering closer and closer to the place I both want and fear him touching. But within moments of making contact with my most intimate place, all I feel is bliss. His finger slides slowly in and out while he gives open-mouthed kisses to my torso. I want to let him know how great it feels, but I'm not lucid enough for speech. My moans and ragged breathing will have to do for now.

His movements grow more assured as time goes on. Another finger slips in to add to the intensity. It's too much and not enough. I writhe and kick my legs, pushing blankets and pillows off the bed in the process. Steadily, an overwhelming energy builds inside of my body. Then the angle he uses changes, touching a place that takes my breath away. My back arches and my knees tremble. He has ignited something within me that can't be held back any longer. My eyelids crash together, heart pounding like a jackhammer. A sound catches in my throat and dies. Wave upon wave of pleasure crashes over and through me all at once. Everything is light and airy, as though I'm having an out of body experience. I've never experienced anything like it before. No wonder Tanya's a sex addict. I think I'm hooked now, too.

Minutes go by. Another kiss near my belly button revives my stunned senses, sending me plummeting back to Earth. Still shrouded in a mental fog, I look up to find a pair of hypnotic eyes waiting.

"Did I do it right?" Edward asks, both brows drawn together worriedly.

I swallow and wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. If that was wrong, then I don't want him to ever do it right. Evidently, he is a natural. I'm not a bit surprised.

"Y-yeah. I-I think you did."

He produces a small but cocky smile. Crawling up my body, he plants a kiss on my chin and then my lips. "Good. Because I plan on doing it often - _if_ you don't mind."

My heart starts beating like a conga drum again.

_Yes. Please do._

The joyful glow in his eyes morphs to seriousness. A hand caresses my cheek. "Are you ready?" he questions in a low voice.

I'm still a little scared but it doesn't affect my mindset in the slightest. I want to be with him in every possible way. "Yes."

He positions himself at my wet entrance, however he does not slip in yet. Our sights cross and hold steady. His tongue glides over his mouth, still swollen from our kisses. "I will try to be careful and move slowly. But if it hurts too much, I want you to tell me," he requests.

My head moves up and down in agreement. Edward exhales and soon begins pushing inside. He moves at a controlled pace, his forehead furrowed in concentration. I monitor the situation closely. I admit there's a feeling of extreme fullness down there, though it isn't too bad considering his size. Basically, it's nothing but a slight sting. I smile inwardly to myself. I was worried about _this_? It's nothing. I hurt worse when I stub my big toe.

Inch by inch, Edward nudges himself deeper. The stinging ache quickly goes from bearable to intense as he stretches me wider. My body tenses up the further he sinks in. Things worsen when a sudden ripping sensation has me sucking in a breath.

I've changed my mind. This hurts. A lot. It feels like I'm being impaled alive.

"Are you all right?" I hear Edward asking through my agony.

I smash my mouth shut and nod my head. _Must not show pain..._

"Bella? Look at me."

My eyes are shut. If I open them, he'll see how much it hurts and I don't want him feeling guilty. He'll spend the rest of the honeymoon blaming himself for one night's worth of my discomfort. So, I refuse and shake my head no.

A thumb moves lovingly under my eyes. "Please. Open up for me," he croons, using his smokey voice to lure me in.

Unable to resist, my eyes crack open. A traitor tear leaks from the corner of an eye and streams down my cheek. And just as I had feared, Edward sees it.

"Bella," he gasps, staring back horrified. "I told you to tell me if it's too painful."

I blink a few times to keep any more tears from pouring out. "It's fine," I insist through my teeth. "Just don't move anymore for a minute."

Edward studies my facial expressions till the count of five. Then his lips press together. "I'm hurting you too much," he decides. Without warning, I feel him backing away from me.

He wants to stop? No! I will _not_ have him stopping just because he thinks it's too much for me to handle. He gave me pleasure tonight. And dammit, I'm going to do the same for him

In a panic, my legs wrap around his back. I lock my ankles together, not allowing him to escape so easily. Edward's head pops up and peers into my determined eyes. His face is a mixture of stress and bewilderment. "Let go, please," he states with a hint of difficulty.

"No."

"Bella. I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have."

"I said just give me _one_ minute. I'll get used to it."

His hand clasps my leg and tries pulling it off. But I've put him in a predicament. If he tugs too hard, he might hurt me - something which both of us are aware. So, he handles me gently and makes absolutely no headway in removing my legs. I use his concern for my well-being to my advantage. My thighs tighten stubbornly around his waist and brings us closer together, thereby plunging him in deeper. I grimace and moan from the searing pain. He, however, moans for different reasons.

A vein on the side of his neck bulges out. "Bella," he strains with wild eyes. "I want this, too. But hurting you is out of the question. Let me go for now and we can try again later. Maybe in a night or-"

I grab the back of his skull and pull his face in for a kiss, cutting him off in the middle of his dumb idea. I show him with my lips and hands what my words don't properly convey. Which is, I want for us to see this through to the end tonight. I give everything I have, pouring out my pain, frustration, and love into the kiss.

Gradually, his resolve weakens - just as I had hoped. He grunts helplessly into my parted lips instead of struggling to get away. I collapse back on the mattress, bringing his body hovering over mine. His kisses drop below my neck and shoulders, tasting everything along the way. Thumbs massage my hipbones in teasing circles. The distraction is like a miracle drug for the pain. Ever so slowly, the stinging subsides to a more manageable level. It's more in the background of my thoughts thanks to what Edward has been doing in other places.

"Try," I gasp between heavy, labored breaths.

Somehow understanding what I am requesting, Edward rolls his hips inwards once. It's slow and smooth, bringing up only a small bit of a burning sensation to my body. This is a definite improvement over how it felt earlier.

"More," I demand.

So he does.

He recaptures my lips, forming a seal around our mouths. I can hear and feel his groaning hum as he makes love to me for real. My legs relax their tight hold from around his waist, no longer worried that he will run away. I can feel how badly he wants this. How badly he wants _me_.

His hand grasps my waist possessively as the pace increases. Ignoring the soreness as best as I can, I revel in our closeness instead. I love the full feeling of having us joined together. I love the unintelligible noises he makes as he moves over me. I love how he can't stop telling me how perfect I feel around him. And I love the way his eyelashes flutter as he tries to control himself from being too rough.

He lifts up on the palms of his hands and gazes down at me. "Ugh. I don't... don't think this will last much longer," he pants. He says this as an apology - as though I'll be disappointed that it's ending too soon.

I soothe his worries by slithering my hands over his body, from his shoulders, down to his lower back, and far below. I marvel at how his firm muscles tighten and release as he moves, over and over again. The thrusts turn progressively erratic, no longer sticking to a particular rhythm. A tremor rips throughout his body. Emerald green irises hide behind clenched lids. Then he stills, his chin slumping forward to his chest.

Half a minute of peaceful silence is all it takes for Edward's heavy breathing to slacken back to near normal levels. He raises his head gingerly. "Are you OK?"

I hold both sides of his face in my hands. "Um-hmm. Just some soreness, but I'm sure that's normal. And you?"

One corner of his mouth perks up. "I'm better than OK. It beat all prior expectations."

"Really? And what did you expect?"

He chuckles and very slowly pulls himself out. My nose wrinkles for a split second at the fresh sting. Apparently not noticing my pained facial expression, he elaborates. "I assumed it would be wonderful, but that was... indescribable. I'm a very lucky man, Mrs. Masen." A soft, sweet kiss lands on my lips.

"Thank you, but I think you've got that backwards. If anyone's lucky in this scenario, it's me," I retort.

"Then we'll just have to agree to disagree, I suppose," he shrugs. A sly smirk creeps up his face. "But it's plain to see how it's my _original_ observation that's the correct one."

I pat his face in condescending way. "Oh, Edward. One day you'll realize how I'm always right. Don't worry though - I don't expect you to learn overnight. I'm patient."

He pounces on me with a predatory gleam in his eye - hands tickling into my sides - until I demand within a giggle that I need to clean up. After a trip to the bathroom, I slide back into his waiting arms and he pulls me underneath the clean white sheets. My body goes limp. Just as I feel my mind drifting away, I hear words breathed into my ear.

"I love you. Forever."

I think it's the first time I've ever fallen asleep with a smile on my face.

**00000000000000000000**

_Somehow, I'm back at our wedding reception - except this time everyone is acting weird. Weirder than usual, that is. Alice and Jasper are fighting over who gets the last of the white-frosted wedding cake. I ask them why they even care about it since they don't eat human food anyway. They choose to ignore the question and continue tugging the plate back and forth. Carlisle is charming my mom again by relating an amusing story from his childhood - which would have taken place sometime during the early 1640s. I beg in a whisper for him to cut it out before she catches on to his many secrets, but he only laughs and brushes off my concern. Emmett and Rosalie are in the midst of a breakdancing battle on the dance floor, doing all sort of complicated gyrations in order to outdo the other. When Emmett spins on his head at an insanely fast speed, none of the human guests even question the impossible feat. They cheer him on, forcing Rosalie to up her game in order to win the match. _

_Confounded by the goings on around me, I take a seat at a table to rest. To my delight, Edward appears out of nowhere. He's shirtless and wears only dress pants and a black bowtie. Kissing my cheek, he stands before me with his hands held behind his back._

_"Would you like for me to serve you?" he offers, eyes gleaming suggestively._

_I suck on my lip and nod my head, using my vivid imagination to think up ways he could help me out. But my fantasies die a tragic death once I see his "serving me" means bringing plate after plate of food from the buffet. I shrug in defeat and dig in. He does well at first, delivering some of my favorites to enjoy. However, once it's time for dessert, he consistently brings questionable dishes. Like, canned pears with mayo and a cherry on top. And, some sort of lime green gelatin with coconut flakes and prunes floating around in it. This stuff is disgusting. They look like science fair projects on how to grow mold and fungi. How could he ever think I'd eat it?_

_"Edward," I whine with a frown, attempting to call him back before he brings something worse. "Edward! I want you to bring me ice cream!"_

A laugh jerks me into another reality. Right away I notice there's a heaviness on my left hip that I can't explain. Bright lights shine behind my closed lids. Curious, I squint my eyes open. Through the slits, I see messy hair, a buff male torso resting on its side, and a cheeky grin aimed at me.

A ton of memories come flooding back. I'm married, no longer a virgin, and can fall asleep and wake up in the same bed as Edward from here on out. Life can't get any better than that.

My lips curve into a smile. "Hey."

The heavy arm wrapped at my waist pulls me closer. Edward places a light kiss on my nose, the stubble of his chin lightly scraping against my face. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

I take a moment to contemplate the question. All I recall after the sex is passing out asleep in his arms and waking up just now. Everything in between is a blur.

"I'm not sure. I don't really remember the sleeping part. It's the part _before_ sleeping that I remember perfectly," I reply.

Through his lazy smile, Edward winks. "You'll have to share your recollections with me later." He rises up from his reclined position on the bed and stretches his arms above his head. Biceps harden and abdominal muscles tighten. I think some saliva seeped out of my mouth just now.

"Are you hungry?" he questions unexpectedly, putting me on the spot.

Blinking rapidly, I force myself to stop staring. "A little."

His arms lower to his side. "All right. I suppose I should feed you then."

A sharp laugh fires from my throat. It's cute that he wants to be helpful. But unless there's a McDonald's nearby with a breakfast menu, I don't expect much from him food wise. "I'll take Cap'n Crunch in a big bowl, please. If we don't have that, I guess I'll survive with some plain corn flakes," I tease.

His entire face cringes in disgust. "Nonsense. I can't feed you processed rubbish coated in sugar. What kind of a husband would I be? I'll see if the caretaker stocked the refrigerator as I instructed."

Slightly alarmed, I shoot up into a matching sitting position next to him. "Then what are you planning to do?"

He stares off musingly for a moment. "How does an omelet sound?"

My confusion mounts. Omelets can be difficult to prepare. Charlie burns and ruins pans each time he tries to make anything more complicated than scrambled eggs. And, unfortunately, Edward has even less experience in the kitchen than my dad does. I don't want our first full day in this house being spent clearing it out of black smoke. Or meeting the local fire department.

"Sounds great... Do we have a cook that lives somewhere in this place?" I ask, cocking a brow hopefully.

A beaming smile lights up his eyes. "Umm, no. Unless you want to start referring to me as such - though I really hope you don't. I'd rather you find a more fitting term of endearment for me. Like, maybe darling. Or, honey."

When he's being a smartass, that usually means he's holding back information. My eyes narrow on his mischievous smirk. "What are you not telling me?"

"I asked Esme to show me how to cook a few things a couple of months back. You know, only simple things - nothing fancy."

The bottom of my jaw drops. He comes from a time and place where cooking was usually considered women's work only. But he apparently said to hell with tradition and learned anyway. My mind is officially blown.

"You learned to cook for me?" I reconfirm, a smile lifting my cheeks.

"Of course." The kiss he gives is electric, sending sparks to my toes. "You're worth it," he murmurs against my lips. Backing away, he stares deeply into my eyes. "You stay right there and I'll go get started. There's supposed to be a serving tray in the kitchen. I'll bring everything up for you once I'm done."

Breakfast in bed? _And_ I don't have to get up and do a thing? I've died and gone to Heaven. That's the only rational explanation I can come up with.

His back turns towards me as he rises out of bed. The white sheet slips off his lower half, making things around here suddenly _a lot_ more interesting. I forgot he was naked under there. My eyes decide on their own to follow him while he walks around the bedroom. All thoughts of breakfast evaporate. Dazedly, I admire everything I saw and touched last night when it was too dark to enjoy it fully. Tousled bronze hair. Broad shoulders and narrow waist. Sculpted butt. Toned legs. Every part of him is a wonder.

With his back still facing in my direction, Edward lifts a blanket from off the floor. I smile a little, remembering how we were too preoccupied last night to care if most of the pillows and blankets got knocked off the bed. A second or two passes and he picks up something else - his pajama pants. Evidently that's where they landed after I tugged them off his legs.

Instead of dropping the pants back on the carpet, he holds them and shakes out their wrinkles. Realization hits me. He intends to put them on. My smile collapses in no time flat. Pants? No. No, no, NO! This man doesn't _need_ clothes. In fact, I think I should make it a new rule that shirts and pants should remain far away from his body while in the privacy of our home.

I blast like a rocket from underneath the crisp sheets. I'm naked, and I don't care. My sights are centered on getting to Edward before he can do anything crazy - like dressing himself and leaving the bedroom. I sneak up from behind and pluck the pants from his fingers. Turning around with puzzled brows, he finds my smirking smile. I throw the pants hard over my shoulder and immediately weave an arm around his neck. My fingers slide up and down his chest, nails scraping his nipples upon each pass. The confusion in his eyes quickly fills with desire as he explores me visually. Both of his arms ensnare my waist and drag me closer. I feel him growing long and hard, the tip of his manhood pressing into the area around my navel.

With our arousal building between us, I exhale a trembling breath. "On second thought...I think breakfast can wait."

In silent agreement, his hungry mouth seizes my lips and feasts as though he hasn't eaten in weeks. I suddenly have a gut feeling that we will rarely leave the confines of our bedroom during this trip.

I think I'm going to love visiting England.

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N-**

**Next Chapter****\- A glimpse from Bella's perspective of the day that changes everything. And, no, it's not a baby.**

**Unimportant but interesting (at least to me) side note****- A reader several months back commented that Edward (being a male born oh so long ago) would probably be uncircumcised since the custom of circumcising babies wasn't quite as common of a practice in the United States during the early twentieth century as it is now. This is true. But, since this is fantasy (Ha! It sure is!), you may imagine him however you want. Have fun. **

**Thanks for reading! :-)**


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